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A  LOVER'S  REVOLT 


BY 


J.  w.  Deforest 


NEW   YORK 

LONGMANS,  GREEN,  AND  CO. 

LONDON  AND  BOMBAY 


1898 


l7  <^  'O  ^i 


/ 


Copyright,  1898,  by 
LONGMANS,  GREEN,  AND  CO. 


All  rights  reserved 


XTbe  ftnici^erbocher  ipress,  t^ew  ll2orti 


CONTENTS 


q55 


CHAPTER 

I.  —  BOSTON  PACIFICATED  .... 

II. — COLONIAL  PACIFICOS  .... 

III. — A  WOUNDED  heart's  REVOLT 
IV. — CONSPIRATORS  ..... 

V. — WATCHING   FOR   A   SORTIE 

VI. ON  THE  TRAIL  OF  REVERE 

VII. — '*  THE  EMBATTLED  FARMERS  " 

VIII. "  THE  SHOT  HEARD  ROUND  THE  WORLD  " 

IX. — AMBUSHING  THE  KING's  TROOPS 
X. — SAVING  THE  STORES  .... 

XI. — THE  DISCORD  AT  CONCORD 

XII. CAPTAIN  MOORCASTLE  AND  PRIVATE  FARNLEE 

XIII. A  WORRIED  MAJOR-GENERAL     . 

XIV. — ROUGH  GOING  FOR  TRUE  LOVE 
XV. — AN  EXPLANATION      ..... 

XVI, AIMING  AT  THE  PEERAGE 

XVII. NEW  ENGLAND  IN  CAMP   .... 

XVIII. ABNER  AS  A   TROOPER         .... 

XIX. ABNER  AS  A  FORAGER         .... 

XX.— ABNER  AS  A  CAPTIVE  .... 

XXI. ABNER  AS  A   "regulator  "      . 

XXII. —  ABNER  STUDIES  MOORCASTLE    . 
XXIII. ABNER's  FLIGHT 


PAGE 

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209 

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iv;829175 


VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

XXIV. — BUNKER  HILL  .... 

XXV. — THE  REDOUBT        .... 

XXVL — HAND  TO  HAND    .... 

XXVn. — RESULTS  AND  REMINISCENCES 

XXVIII. — MOORCASTLE  RECOLLECTS  HULDAH 

XXIX.  —  HULDAH  AS  A  HOSPITAL  NURSE     . 

XXX.  — NOBLE  CAPTAIN  MOORCASTLE  !       . 

XXXI. — HULDAH  AMONG  GRANDEES 

*  XXXII. LOVELY  MRS.  LORELEIGH 

XXXIII. MATCHMAKING       .... 

XXXIV. THEATRICALS  .... 

XXXV. — "  WHAT  BRINGS  YOU  HERE  ?  " 

XXXVI. — huldah's  admirers    . 

XXXVII.  —  A  SEARCH  FOR   MOORCASTLE 
XXXVIII. — BOMBARDMENT       .... 

XXXIX. A  KISS  FOR  EASTWOLD 

XL. TO  HALIFAX  OR  ^  ! 

SEQUEL  


240 

265 

286 
296 

3^3 
313 
324 
335 
345 
356 
368 

378 
393 

403 

410 

417 


A    LOVER'S    REVOLT 


CHAPTER  I 


BOSTON    PACIFICATED 


IT  was  a  famous  time  long  past,  a  time  full  of  wrath, 
and  wrangling,  and  wretchedness,  for  man  best  re- 
members man  when  he  is  a  combatant,  or  a  sufferer,  or 
a  tormentor. 

Boston,  which  had  lately  been  one  of  the  most  glad- 
some of  cities,  the  most  flourishing  seaport  in  Britan- 
nia's many  colonies,  its  sixteen  thousand  indwellers  all 
industrious  and  thriving,  had  within  a  few  months 
assumed  the  glory  of  the  martyr  at  the  stake. 

It  was  a  very  different  Boston  from  the  one  now 
visible.  The  peninsula  was  but  little  larger  than  the 
Pokanokets  had  left  it,  and  only  about  half  as  large  as 
modern  grading,  and  filling,  and  wharfing  have  made  it. 
The  straggling  town  covered  three  quarters  of  its 
picturesque  surface;  but  a  great  many  of  the  houses 
had  spacious  gardens,  or  even  orchards  and  pasture 
lots;  and  there  were  broad  stretches  of  public  or  pri- 
vate meadow,  especially  on  the  side  towards  Cam- 
bridge. The  three  hills,  much  higher  and  more 
distinct  than  we  can  easily  imagine  them,  were  grassy 


2  A   Lover's  Revolt 

wastes  dotted  with  wild  roses  and  thickets  of  bayberry. 
Beacon  Hill  really  had  a  beacon,  a  ponderous  pole 
which  bore  aloft  a  large  iron  skillet  for  combustibles,  a 
memento  of  the  days  when  Montcalm  and  the  redskins 
were  terrible  to  New  England. 

The  public  buildings  were  some  fifteen  in  number. 
There  was  Faneuil  Hall,  the  Town  Hall,  the  Court 
House,  the  Prison,  the  Workhouse ;  and  there  were 
ten  houses  of  worship,  nearly  all  Congregational  in 
creed, — the  creed  of  Naseby  and  Worcester,  of  Crom- 
well and  the  regicides.  Was  there  yet  any  Ironside 
virtue  left  in  it  ?  The  dwellings  were  mostly  of  wood  ; 
but  many  of  them  were  roomy,  comfortable,  and 
graced  with  some  fretwork  or  pointing  of  decoration; 
a  dozen  or  so  had  imported  furniture,  libraries,  family 
portraits.  Few  burghers  in  that  day  lived  more  grandly 
than  John  Hancock  and  James  Bowdoin  (those  earliest 
yet  even  now  most  notable  of  Beacon  Hill  aristocrats) 
both  of  whom  looked  out  from  their  diamond-paned 
windows  upon  the  Common,  and  perhaps  turned  loose 
upon  it  their  swine  and  cows,  like  the  humblest  citi- 
zen. Along  the  harbor  front,  from  the  Neck  quite 
around  to  the  Charlestown  Ferry  Way,  ran  a  sinuous 
curve  of  wharves,  shipyards,  and  storehouses.  For  a 
colonial  port  the  commerce  had  been  great ;  a  yearly 
clearance  of  a  thousand  sail  was  nothing  remarkable. 

But  why  should  not  Boston  succeed  in  any  career  of 
enterprise  and  intelligence  ?  The  stock  of  the  Puri- 
tans, hardened  by  a  wrestle  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  with  the  wilderness,  had  rather  gained  than  lost 
in  audacity  and  vigor.  Moreover,  every  native-born 
soul  could  read  and  write,  a  circumstance  without 
parallel  in  the  mother  country,  and  perhaps  without 


Boston   Pacificated  .     3 

parallel  in  all  arrogant  Europe.  It  was  a  question 
whether  civilization  had  not  crossed  the  Atlantic,  and 
left  barbarism  to  hold  the  cities  and  hamlets  of  the 
elder  shores. 

But  it  was  hard  times,  during  that  spring  of  1775, 
in  thrifty,  church-going,  school-attending  Boston.  For 
ten  months  General  Thomas  Gage,  with  a  dozen  bat- 
talions and  as  many  frigates  at  his  beck,  had  been 
royal  satrap  of  Massachusetts  and  its  capital.  For 
rather  more  than  that  time  the  port  had  been  closed 
by  act  of  Parliament  to  punish  the  citizens  for  refusing 
to  import  taxed  tea,  and  for  pitching  a  sample  of  the 
same  into  the  harbor.  The  export  and  import  trade  of 
the  town  was  as  dead  as  George  III.  and  an  over- 
whelming majority  of  insolent  lords  and  bribed  country 
squires  could  kill  it.  The  wharves  were  bare,  except 
of  government  transports ;  the  half-finished  vessels  in 
the  shipyards  were  turning  yellow;  the  doors  of  the 
warehouses  were  locked  from  morning  till  night. 
The  shopkeepers  in  the  business  streets  sat  on  their 
counters,  drumming  a  sort  of  dead  march  with  the 
heels  of  their  foxy  shoes,  and  dismally  waiting  for 
the  rare  customers  who  bought  so  sparingly  and  paid 
so  irregularly. 

Hundreds,  if  not  thousands,  of  industriously  minded 
burghers  were  at  their  wits'  ends  for  means  to  live 
from  day  to  day.  Hungry-looking  men  in  ragged 
clothing  sauntered  the  forlorn  streets,  vainly  seeking 
a  job  which  might  bring  forth  sixpence  to  pay  for  din- 
ner and  lodging.  There  were  women  as  shabby  as  the 
men,  and  many  children  more  shabby  than  either,  even 
to  going  barefoot  in  the  surly  April  weather.  The 
well-to-do  class  was  living  stintingly  on  its  capital,  and 


4  A   Lover's  Revolt 

the  laboring  class  was  living  on  the  chance  mercies  of 
Heaven. 

One  fiery  consolation  remained  within  the  reach  of 
almost  every  one.  West  India  rum  could  be  had  for 
sixpence  a  quart,  and  New  England  rum  for  four- 
pence.  Men  who  did  not  know  where  they  could  get 
trusted  for  food  on  the  morrow,  sought  forgetfulness 
from  despair  in  this  abundance  of  potable  ruin.  But 
the  quiet  tippling  of  decent  householders  and  the 
noisy  public  fuddling  of  jobless  wagoners  and  shipless 
sailors  were  not  the  most  disturbing  features  of  the 
wide-spread  and  increasing  inebriety. 

The  soldiers  of  the  garrison,  meanly  fed  as  most 
soldiers  then  were,  miserably  quartered  also,  and  suffer- 
ing from  typhoid  fever,  seized  every  opportunity  to 
drown  in  rum  the  consciousness  of  their  monotonous 
discomfort.  The  dozen  regiments  were  perhaps  the 
drunkenest  regiments  that  ever  staggered  about  an 
equal  space  of  their  Maker's  footstool.  Grenadiers, 
and  light  infantry,  and  linesmen,  and  marines,  and 
tarpaulins  lurched  through  the  woe-begone  town,  chal- 
lenging citizens  to  fisticuffs,  breaking  up  the  games  of 
schoolboys,  and  making  wrecks  of  each  other's  visages. 
A  thousand  noses  had  bled,  and  a  thousand  pairs  of 
eyes  had  gone  into  mourning,  since  Gage  had  under- 
taken to  pacify  Boston.  The  very  officers  were  some- 
times afraid  to  enter  the  clamorous  barracks,  or  to 
meet  the  hullabalooing  truants  therefrom  who  shoul- 
dered along  the  muddy  streets. 

'  But  British  discipline  was  not  yet  entirely  submerged 
by  the  raging  deluge  of  cheap  rum.  It  was  the  epoch  of 
Prussian  drill,  when  every  army  emulated  the  methods 
of  the  great   Frederic,   and  every  soldier  learned  his 


Boston   Pacificated  5 

duty  at  the  cost  of  his  carcass.  As  Voltaire  relates  of 
Candide,  "  They  made  him  right  face  and  left  face, 
they  made  him  shoulder  arms  and  order  arms,  and  they 
gave  him  thirty  lashes." 

Every  week  Boston  saw  a  squad  of  red-nosed  heroes 
marched  out  upon  the  Common,  where  they  were 
stripped  to  the  waist  in  the  raw  east  wind,  and  cat-o'- 
nine-tailed  by  burly  drummers,  the  blood  spirting  from 
their  quivering  backs  and  crimsoning  the  boggy  turf. 
Three  hundred  lashes  was  the  usual  quota,  and  the 
grim  sergeant-major  sometimes  counted  off  a  thousand. 
Naturally  a  large  proportion  of  these  corrections  fell  to 
the  lot  of  the  warm-hearted  battalions  which  had  been 
recruited  among  the  **  wild  Irish." 

In  short,  Boston  was  not  a  cheerful  place  to  walk 
about  in,  much  less  to  abide  in.  Many  citizens  had 
emigrated,  some  in  search  of  labor  and  bread,  some  to 
avoid  a  hasty  jailing.  John  Hancock,  the  rich  man, 
and  Samuel  Adams,  the  eloquent  man,  were  in  hiding 
at  Lexington,  lest  they  should  be  arrested  for  having 
been  elected  as  delegates  to  a  General  Congress  of  the 
provinces.  Joseph  Warren,  another  brilliant  advocate 
of  "  English  liberties  for  Englishmen  living  in  Amer- 
ica, ' '  was  prepared  to  fly  the  city  at  a  moment's  notice. 
Even  the  Tories,  while  meekly  revering  the  "  anointed 
of  the  Lord,"  did  not  thoroughly  admire  General 
Gage's  pacification  when  they  looked  upon  the  empty 
port,  the  closed  shops,  the  trafficless  streets,  the  numer- 
ous beggars,  the  universal  impoverishment.  Probably 
their  greatest  present  satisfaction  sprang  from  squab- 
bling with  their  comrades  in  affliction. 

For,  like  all  abodes  of  torment,  whether  in  this 
world  or  another,  Boston  was  full  of  hate  and  recrimi- 


6  A   Lover's  Revolt 

nation.  In  every  street,  and  in  many  a  household, 
there  were  two  angrily  discordant  parties.  The  child- 
ren of  liberal  parties  and  the  children  of  ministerial 
families  rarely  met  without  exchanging  surly  looks  and 
evil  names,  or  perhaps  brickbats.  Ladies  who  drank 
loyal  bohea  tea  were  not  on  speaking  terms  with  ladies 
who  drank  tea  made  from  the  leaves  of  the  as  yet 
untaxed  raspberry.  There  were  relatives  who  gobbled 
their  mush  and  milk  without  glancing  at  each  other, 
and  huffed  off  to  bed  without  bidding  each  other  good- 
night. Members  of  the  church  glowered  sourly  over 
the  communion-cup  at  brothers  and  sisters  in  Christ. 
Whenever  news  came  that  a  tax-collector  had  been 
tarred  and  feathered,  four  fifths  of  Boston  smiled;  and 
whenever  an  imprudently  active  "  Son  of  Liberty  " 
was  calaboosed,  the  other  fifth  lifted  eyes  of  gratitude  to 
a  Tory  Providence.  The  loyalists  besieged  the  throne 
of  grace  to  have  Sam  Adams  and  John  Hancock  jailed 
or  hung  for  high  treason ;  and  the  Whigs  prayed  with 
equal  fervor  that  Lord  Chatham  and  Colonel  Barre 
might  get  the  majority  in  Parliament. 

Even  General  Gage,  an  honest  admirer  of  vigorous 
soldierly  ways  in  statesmanship,  could  not  be  happy 
among  people  who  were  perpetually  boring  him  with 
the  British  constitution,  and  representing  to  him  that 
that  was  the  code  by  which  they  wanted  to  be  gov- 
erned. He  got  so  confounded  by  their  talk  that  he 
openly  grumbled  at  a  certain  statute  of  Parliament, 
and  said  it  was  the  unwisest  possible  regulation  for  a 
city  "  where  everybody  studied  law."  He  wanted  to 
leave  Boston  and  return  to  New  York,  where  his 
American  wife's  family  could  make  things  socially 
pleasant  for  him,  and  where  the  population  was  not 


Boston   Pacificated  7 

yet  grimly  bent  upon  having  '*  English  rights."  In 
short  nobody  in  the  pacificated  town  was  happy,  un- 
less it  might  be  the  soldiers  who  were  stone-blind 
drunk  and  not  yet  able  to  take  up  the  goose-step  for 
the  whipping-post. 

All  this  wrath  and  misery  because  a  certain  man  in 
England — a  high-born  wooden-head  with  a  pig's  fore- 
head and  chin,  and  a  stubborn,  narrow  mind  to  corre- 
spond— had  resolved  that  somewhere  or  other,  if  not 
in  Great  Britain,  then  in  the  colonies,  there  should 
be  Englishmen  who  might  be  taxed  without  being 
consulted  about  it.  Also  because  in  those  days  a 
crown  was  still  a  fetish ;  because  even  a  prime  minister 
of  England  went  down  on  his  knees  to  gracious  majesty ; 
because  arrogant  noble  lords  could  be  changed  into 
truckling  flunkeys  by  the  stare  of  a  self-willed  monarch ; 
because  ignorant  Tory  squires  could  be  hired  with 
guineas  to  pass  any  measure  which  did  not  touch 
their  own  pockets ;  and  because  Englishmen  in  general 
neither  knew  nor  cared  what  a  colonist  might  be  or 
might  want. 


CHAPTER  II 

COLONIAL   PACIFICOS 

AMONG  the  few  Bostonians  who  were  neither  pas- 
sionately Whig  nor  passionately  Tory  were  the 
Oakbridges. 

"  Things  are  ruther  mixed  in  my  household,"  said 
Jehiel  Oakbridge,  merchant,  the  head  of  this  worthy 
family  and  the  senior  partner  of  Oakbridge  &  Son. 
"  There  's  my  wife  believes  in  Hancock  and  Adams. 
There  's  my  half-brother,  Parson  Timothy  Fenn — you 
know  he  's  just  been  run  out  of  Tarry  town  by  the 
patriots — well,  he  was  a  fierce  enough  ministry  man 
before,  but  now  he  's  fiercer  than  ever.  There  's  my 
son's  wife,  a  London-born  woman,  and  naturally  all 
for  the  old  country.  And  there  's  Huldy,  sometimes 
one  way,  sometimes  the  other.  John  and  I  have  all 
we  can  do  to  hold  our  tongues.  We  attend  to  busi- 
ness; that  seems  to  be  our  part.  I  wish  there  was 
more  of  it  to  'tend  to." 

Then  the  customer  departed,  having  bought  little 
and  paid  nothing,  like  so  many  others.  Half  an  hour 
passed  without  another  creature  entering  the  "  store," 
except  a  stray  country  dog  who  had  lost  his  master 
and  was  searching  the  town  for  him. 

"  We  may  as  well  lock  up,  John,  and  go  to  dinner," 
said  the  elder  Oakbridge.     "  The  women  folks  will 

3 


Colonial   Pacificos  9 

want  us  to  be  dressed  up  nice  today.  Birthday  din- 
ners! That  's  your  wife's  nonsense,  John.  I  don't 
believe  there  ever  was  a  birthday  dinner  before  in 
Boston,  unless  it  was  in  some  Episcopal  family." 

"  Ann  can't  help  being  fond  of  English  ways,"  was 
John's  apology  for  his  wife. 

I  would  n't  mind  so  much,  if  they  had  n't  invited 
that  English  officer,"  the  elder  man  continued. 
"  What  will  Ash  Farnlee  think  ?  He  had  my  permis- 
sion to  speak  to  Huldy  to-day." 

We  do  a  good  deal  of  trade  with  the  garrison," 
John  suggested.  "  This  officer  is  in  General  Gage's 
retinue.     It  won't  hurt  to  be  polite  to  him." 

They  had  not  far  to  go  to  reach  their  home.  The 
Oakbridge  store  was  but  a  wing  of  the  Oakbridge 
dwelling.  This  dwelling  was  not  one  of  the  grand 
houses  of  Boston,  but  it  was  far  from  being  one  of  the 
meaner  sort.  It  was  a  sufficiently  spacious  building, 
puritanically  plain  and  rectangular,  with  a  hall  down 
the  centre  and  two  rooms  on  either  side.  One  of  the 
front  rooms  was  the  parlor,  a  peculiarly  sacred  apart- 
ment, scarcely  ever  opened;  the  other  served  as  the 
family  sitting-room,  and,  on  special  occasions,  as 
dining-room ;  for,  as  a  rule,  the  simple  but  abundant 
table  of  the  Oakbridges  was  spread  in  the  kitchen. 
The  remainder  of  the  ground  floor  was  occupied  by 
the  kitchen,  the  lean-to  wash-house,  and  the  dormitory 
of  the  heads  of  the  family.  Naturally  the  building 
was  of  wood,  coated  with  hand-made  chestnut  shingles 
painted  white.  The  front  door  was  sheltered  by  a 
pillared  porch,  two  stories  high,  and  terminating  aloft 
in  a  projecting  gable, — the  single  picturesque  feature 
of  the  Calvinistic  edifice. 


lO  A   Lover's   Revolt 

There  had  been  great  excitement  among  the  female 
Oakbridges  over  this  dinner  which  was  to  celebrate 
Huldah's  eighteenth  birthday.  It  was  not  because 
Asahel  Farnlee  (son  of  Squire  Farnlee  of  Lexington) 
would  be  present.  Much  as  Huldah  liked  him,  she 
knew  him  familiarly  as  an  admirer,  and  she  was  not 
afraid  of  him.  But  Captain  Moorcastle  would  be 
there,  a  comparative  stranger,  a  native  of  the  old 
country,  an  officer,  and,  after  some  hazy  fashion,  a 
noble. 

"  I  'm  scairt  already,  Sister  Ann,"  Huldah  had  con- 
fided to  John  Oakbridge's  wife,  as  they  were  talking 
over  the  coming  banquet,  two  days  before.  "  I  ain't 
used  to  lords  yet." 

"  Oh,  'e  'ain't  got  no  title,"  said  Ann,  cheeringly. 
"  'E  'ain't  even  a  barnet.  But  if  'is  cousin  dies  with- 
out children,  hup  goes  the  young  man  into  the  peer- 
itch.  Don't  call  him  a  lord,  for  gracious  sake.  Call 
him  Capting. " 

Sister  Ann  looked  forward  with  anxiety,  but  also 
with  much  hope,  to  the  dinner.  It  had  been  all  of  her 
doing,  the  festivity  itself,  the  invitation  to  Ash  Farn- 
lee, and  the  invitation  to  Captain  Moorcastle.  She 
trusted  that  the  presence  of  the  provincial  admirer 
would  sting  the  Englishman  with  jealousy  and  inspire 
him  to  love.  If  her  handsome  little  sister-in-law  should 
bag  a  British  officer,  who  was  also  an  honorable,  and 
might  become  an  earl,  what  joy  unspeakable,  what 
abounding  glory,  even  to  her  lowly  self,  Ann  Elizar 
Bodge,  native  of  'Ighgate! 

Well,  the  prandial  day  had  come,  and  they  were 
still  alive,  though  hardly.  Both  the  young  women 
had  had  their  white  arms  in  flour  up  to  the  elbows. 


Colonial  Pacificos  ii 

Sister  Ann  had  concocted  a  beefsteak  pie,  a  Yorkshire 
pudding,  a  plum  pudding,  and  other  British  indiges- 
tibilities.  Also  there  would  be  oysters,  roast  turkey, 
mince  pies,  tarts,  madeira  wine,  French  brandy,  and  un- 
limited native  cider,  if  called  for.  Let  us  all  hope  that 
the  noble  guest's  heart  will  be  softened  by  so  many 
appeals  to  his  tenderest  sensibilities. 

And  now  the  honorable  Captain  is  at  the  gate. 
Huldah  and  Sister  Ann  peep  from  behind  the  window 
curtain  while  he  alights  on  the  timber  horse-block  and 
sends  away  his  steed  in  charge  of  the  attendant 
orderly.  Meanwhile  Jehiel  Oakbridge,  in  his  claret- 
colored  coat,  yellow  waistcoat,  yellow  knee-breeches, 
yellow  silk  stockings  and  silver-buckled  shoes,  stumbles 
eagerly  to  the  door,  and  welcomes  the  guest  whose 
company  he  had  not  desired.  His  daughter  was 
ashamed  of  him  for  being  so  flurried,  and  yet  she  was 
fully  as  frightened  herself. 

Captain  Moorcastle  was  a  splendid  spectacle,  in  his 
long-skirted  and  broad-skirted  scarlet  coat,  with  its 
black  velvet  facings  and  abundant  gold-lace  trimmings, 
his  tight-fitting  knee-breeches  and  long  cavalry  boots. 
Moreover  he  had  a  distinguished  air,  and  a  well-pro- 
portioned figure  of  sufficient  height,  and  a  face  which 
was  rather  handsome,  if  not  always  agreeable.  There 
was  an  aristocratic  cut  to  the  very  nearly  Grecian 
features.  There  was  a  lordly  arrogance  in  the  stare  of 
the  wide-open  dark-brown  eyes.  The  spirited  upper 
lip  was  a  little  too  short,  for  it  sometimes  exposed  a 
considerable  length  of  white  front  teeth,  and  then  the 
mouth  had  a  wolfish  expression.  The  complexion 
was  darkling,  and  saturated  v.ath  a  uniform  sombre 
redness,  which  seemed  to  denote  an  iron  constitution 


12  A   Lover's  Revolt 

and  an  impassioned  temperament.  Here  and  there, 
also,  as  was  common  enough  among  the  men  of  those 
bibulous  days,  the  skin  was  undershot  with  turbidities 
of  overheated  blood,  as  if  it  might  shortly  burgeon 
forth  in  port -wine  buds  and  brandy  blossoms. 

The  Captain's  fashion  of  entrance  was  not  what  we 
would  now  describe  as  English.  It  was  not  quiet,  and 
natural,  and  unpretentious  even  unto  shyness.  Quite 
the  contrary,  it  was  oppressively  full  of  manner,  and  it 
was  hectoringly  pompous.  The  honorable  young  staff- 
officer  behaved  in  a  style  which  would  disgust  his 
representative  of  the  present  day.  He  grinned,  and 
grimaced,  and  bridled,  and  strutted.  He  bowed  to 
the  right  and  left  with  the  flourishes  of  a  dancing- 
master.  And  he  let  his  entertainers  know,  even  while 
he  mouthed  his  compliments  at  them,  that  he  was 
speaking  a  long  way  down  to  them  and  doing  them  an 
honor.  In  short,  he  bore  himself  like  a  grand  gentle- 
man, as  gentility  was  then  understood  in  England. 

"  I  have  the  plezhr,"  he  mumbled,  as  he  bowed  and 
smirked  to  one  after  another  of  the  provincial  house- 
hold. "  Great  plezhr  in  being  one  of  your  society  on 
this  auspicious  occasion.  Very  monstrous  plezhr, 
'pon  m'  soul,  assure  ye." 

General  Gage  could  not  have  behaved  better,  and 
General  Prescott  would  not  have  behaved  half  so  well, 
meaning  to  say  in  a  colonial  family. 

Presently,  by  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  they  were  all 
got  alive  to  table.  Mrs.  Oakbridge,  a  heroic  woman 
among  the  serious  trials  of  Hfe,  could  not  for  days 
afterward  remember  those  moments  without  gasping. 
Young  Farnlee  was  not  waited  for,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  he  was  totally  forgotten.     Reverend  Mr. 


Colonial  Pacificos  13 

Fenn,  sitting  opposite  the  gorgeous  Englishman,  said 
grace  in  a  voice  of  deep  emotion,  as  though  he  were 
surely  in  the  presence  of  his  Creator. 

There  were  seven  diners,  the  high-born  guest,  Oak- 
bridge  and  wife.  Uncle  Fenn  and  Huldah,  Oakbridge 
junior  and  wife,  leaving  an  empty  chair  for  Farnlee. 
Nothing  was  said  about  this  void,  although  the  Captain 
glanced  at  it  with  an  air  of  grim  inquiry,  perhaps  fear- 
ing lest  it  might  be  filled  by  the  clerk  or  the  stable 
boy.  But  he  was  quite  at  his  ease  and  disposed  to 
make  himself  agreeable. 

"  Gad  I  you  Bostonians  know  how  to  live,"  he  said, 
nodding  approbation  at  his  oyster  soup.  "  Our  fellows 
joke  a  good  deal  about  your  codfish  patties  and  your 
pork  and  beans.  But  what  do  they  know  of  your 
aiisine  ?  There  's  such  a  general  spirit  of  rebellion 
here  that  really  the  officers  seldom  get  a  meal  outside 
of  their  messes.  Now  it  's  not  the  same  thing  at  all  in 
New  York.  Good  subjects  there  ;  plenty  of  invitations 
out;  a  much  pleasanter  station  than  this  rebel  hole." 

Yes,  he  was  quite  at  ease  in  his  unconscious  arro- 
gance, and  quite  sure  that  everybody  present  found 
his  talk  delightful. 

But  what  is  the  matter  with  our  worthy  Bostonians  ? 
They  can  hardly  respond  to  the  gallant  Captain's  gen- 
tilities;  and  when  they  do  speak,  it  is  in  broken, 
simpering  murmurs.  They  represent  the  colony  in 
face  of  the  mother  country.  They  are  cowed  by  an 
Englishman,  cowed  by  the  royal  uniform,  cowed  by 
the  thought  of  lordly  blood.  In  the  bearing  of  these 
good  people  there  is  all  the  reverence  of  the  province 
for  the  birthland,  and  no  little  of  the  immemorial 
flunkeyism  of  the  race  toward  nobility. 


14  A  Lover's  Revolt 

Oakbridge,  the  honest  and  solvent  man  of  business, 
is  too  much  dashed  to  do  otherwise  than  nod  and  grin, 
even  when  Boston  is  called  a  hole.  His  pious  and 
brave  wife,  though  she  has  a  red  spot  of  insurrection 
in  her  cheek,  is  scared  into  silence.  Torified  Uncle 
Fenn,  ducking  his  silver  head,  and  revealing  his  fawn- 
ing old  teeth,  is  venerably  contemptible.  Of  course  it 
is  natural  that  home-born  Sister  Ann  should  wriggle 
and  smirk  the  loyalism  and  social  sycophancy  of  in- 
most Highgate.  Huldah  bears  herself  best  of  all,  for 
she  remembers  a  right-honorable  squeeze  upon  her 
lovely  fingers,  and  she  is  aware  that  even  General 
Gage,  son  of  Viscount  Gage  and  commander  in  chief, 
has  espoused  a  colonial  damsel. 

The  English-speaking  world  of  our  day  knows  little 
of  the  toadyism  of  the  good  old  times.  If  we  should 
journey  to  Halifax  and  watch  Canadian  girls  truckling 
to  officers  of  the  garrison,  we  should  see  nothing  like 
the  obsequiousness  of  bygone  Yankeedom  to  the 
gentleman  from  the  old  country,  especially  when  he 
bore  a  uniform  or  a  title.  It  was  high  time,  in  that 
year  of  Seventeen  Seventy-Five,  it  was  more  than 
abundantly  high  time,  for  the  good  of  the  American 
race  and  the  honor  of  human  nature,  that  we  should 
cut  loose  from  aristocratic,  dominating  Britain. 

The  oysters  had  just  been  cleared  away  by  a  colored 
bondwoman  (less  slavish  to  her  owner  than  was  Uncle 
Fenn  to  Captain  Moorcastle)  when  Asahel  Farnlee 
entered  the  dining  room.  He  was  a  tall,  muscular 
youngster  with  high-colored  cheeks,  curling  raven  hair, 
and  brave,  steady,  black  eyes.  His  face  showed  aston- 
ishment and  disappointment  as  he  stared  at  the  uni- 
formed guest.      Every  one  of  the  Oakbridges  changed 


Colonial   Pacificos  15 

color  at  sight  of  that  glance  of  reproachful  surprise. 
Huldah,  blushing  profusely,  started  up,  and  then  sat 
down  again,  begging  Captain  Moorcastle's  pardon. 
Mrs.  Oakbridge  rallied  first,  and  called  out  in  her 
gentle,  measured  voice,  "  We  are  glad  to  see  you, 
Asahel,  and  there  is  your  chair." 

When  Farnlee  had  taken  his  place  he  was  on  Hul- 
dah's  left,  while  Moorcastle  was  on  her  right.  Uncle 
Fenn  solemnly  introduced  them,  and  the  two  gentle- 
men acknowledged  each  other  across  the  girl's  lovely 
little  nose,  the  provincial  only  half  rising  to  bow,  and 
the  officer  returning  a  rather  surly  nod.  The  scene 
somewhat  resembled  the  mutual  salutations  of  two 
mastiffs  over  a  bone. 

Oakbridge  senior  sought  to  make  things  pleasanter 
by  talking  to  Ash  about  his  father.  Was  the  Squire 
putting  in  a  large  crop  this  year  ?  Was  there  much 
lawing  going  on  at  Lexington  ?  The  young  man  an- 
swered with  an  obvious  attempt  to  pay  attention  and 
to  appear  at  ease.  Presently  he  stole  a  sidelong  glance 
at  Huldah,  but  she  was  intently  listening  to  Captain 
Moorcastle,  and  he  relapsed  into  an  unhappy  silence. 

By  this  time  the  Yorkshire  pudding  and  the  beefsteak 
pie  were  on  the  table,  reminding  one  of  English  garri- 
sons in  a  Yankee  province. 

Bravo!  "  cried  the  Captain.  "  How  happy  could 
I  be  with  either,  were  t'  other  dear  charmer  away. 
By  Jove  (excuse  me.  Mistress  Oakbridge),  this  is  merry 
old  England,  and  not  Boston.  Pardon  me  if  I  consider 
this  a  personal  attention.     To  whom  am  I  indebted  ?  " 

Sister  Ann  tittered  and  wriggled  significantly,  and 
Huldah  glanced  at  her  with  a  sharp  pang  of  jealousy. 
John  Oakbridge  felt  prouder  of  his  wife  at  that  moment 


1 6  A  Lover's  Revolt 

than  he  had  any  profound  reason  to  beat  any  mo- 
ment. 

"  She  keeps  her  English  hand  at  cooking,  sir,"  he 
said  to  Moorcastle. 

"  May  she  never  lose  it,"  prayed  Uncle  Fenn. 
"  Anything  EngHsh  and  everything  English  is  to  me 
sacred." 

But  the  Captain  was  not  to  be  drawn  into  any  court- 
liness towards  Sister  Ann.  He  had  recognized,  in  his 
first  glance  at  her,  that  she  was  a  fundamentally  com- 
mon Englishwoman  ;  and  if  there  was  anything  that  he 
despised  more  than  he  despised  colonists,  it  was  the 
plainer  sort  of  his  fellow-islanders.  So  he  simply  gave 
Sister  Ann  a  familiar  nod  (such  as  he  might  have 
granted  to  a  serviceable  barmaid)  and  turned  himself 
to  discourse  with  the  more  refined,  as  well  as  prettier, 
Yankee  maiden. 

"  And  what  do  yoii  think  of  English  things  ?  "  he 
asked  with  a  confident  smile  which  would  have  been 
pleasant  enough  but  for  its  revelation  of  pitiless  ivories. 

"  Oh!  I — 2i-dore  them,"  Huldah  gasped.  Then 
she  wondered  if  Asahel  were  looking  at  her,  and  how 
he  looked. 

"  Oh,  come  now!  "  grinned  the  Captain.  "  That  's 
too  good  to  be  believed.  How  can  I  dare  be  so  happy 
as  to  believe  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  imist,''  cried  Huldah.  "  I  insist  that 
you  ?««^/ believe  me." 

She  caught  her  mother  gazing  at  her  gravely,  and 
then  glancing  anxiously  toward  Farnlee;  but  she  did 
not  care  at  the  moment  what  either  of  them  thought  of 
her;  they  were  not  English,  and  they  wore  no  epaulets. 

"  You  must  tell  him,  Uncle  Fenn,  to  believe  me," 


Colonial  Pacificos  17 

she  giggled  on,  with  a  readiness  and  audacity  which 
astonished  herself. 

Uncle  Fenn,  who  was  simpering  like  a  Chinese  Joss, 
opened  his  bootlicking  mouth  and  began  to  say  that 
his  niece's  loyalty  might  be  implicitly  trusted.  But 
the  Captain  (and  one  longs  to  thank  him  for  it)  did  not 
look  at  the  old  toady,  and  cut  him  short  in  the  middle. 

"  In  that  case  I  fill  your  glass,"  he  said  to  Huldah; 
"  and  I  beg  leave  to  drink  to  your  loyal  bright  eyes." 

The  roses  in  Huldah's  cheeks  turned  to  peonies. 
Castles  in  the  clouds,  castles  in  the  fogs  of  old  Eng- 
land, rose  before  her  girlish  vision.  What  could  she 
care  just  then  for  the  provincial  lover  who  sat  on  her 
left  hand,  pale  and  hollow-eyed  with  heartache  ? 

Farnlee  comprehended  perfectly  that  courtship  was 
going  on  there  between  Huldah  and  Moorcastle. 
What  was  the  meaning  of  it  ?  Why  had  that  girl — 
inexpressibly  dear  to  him  even  then — why  had  she 
given  her  whole  time  to  this  stranger,  listening  to  him 
alone,  flattering  him,  manoeuvring  for  his  attentions  ? 
Had  she  never  cared  for  himself,  Asahel  Farnlee,  her 
old  intimate,  her  lover  for  years  ?  No  ;  that  could  not 
be ;  she  had  been  changed  ;  her  head  was  turned.  For 
the  first  time  he  realized  the  full  force  of  the  pitiless 
fact  that  a  colonist  was  as  the  dust  of  the  earth  in  com- 
parison with  a  native  of  the  mother  country. 

The  Captain,  flushing  a  little  with  wine  and  court- 
ship, continued  to  monopolize  Huldah.  He  demanded 
her  ear,  and  her  sparkling  glances,  and  her  blushes. 
But  he  was  under  no  necessity  to  struggle  for  her  at- 
tention. Even  when  he  talked  to  others,  when  he 
vouchsafed  a  witticism  to  the  company,  she  hearkened 
with  all  her  might,  and  was  the  first  to  giggle. 


i8  A  Lover's  Revolt 

Meanwhile  she  prattled  with  an  ease  which  surprised 
herself,  coiiiidering  the  presence  of  the  elders  of  her 
household,  and  the  straitness  with  which  she  had  been 
trained  to  revere  them.  But  she  felt  that  she  was  the 
heroine  of  the  occasion,  and  that  she  was  backed  up  by 
the  sole  hero  of  it,  Captain  Moorcastle.  It  really  costs 
one  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to  explain  how  a  Yankee 
damsel  of  that  day  could  be  forward  and  pert. 

After  a  time  Uncle  Fenn  managed  to  grovel  and 
fawn  his  way  into  the  dialogue.  He  had  expected — 
he  the  loyalist  divine,  and  martyr  of  rebellious  Tarry- 
town — to  take  a  leading  hand  in  entertaining  Gracious 
Majesty's  noble  and  gallant  servitor.  But  there  was  a 
lively  mess-table  wit  in  the  Captain  which  constantly 
threw  the  parson  ofT  the  trail,  like  a  fat  old  hound 
stumbling  and  summersaulting  in  vain  chase  of  a 
doubling  young  rabbit. 

Moreover,  Uncle  Fenn  had  been  partially  dumb- 
founded by  the  unexpected  assurance  with  which  his 
niece  had  welcomed  Moorcastle's  audacious  courtship. 
Thus  it  was  quite  late  in  the  repast  before  he  got  his 
loyal  tongue  well  a-wagging.  Then,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  he  talked  high-toryism,  and  not  without 
eloquence  and  wit. 

But  it  was  of  no  use.  The  old  gentleman  could  not 
get  the  ear  and  confidence  of  the  company.  Nobody 
felt  sure  that  he  had  said  the  right  thing  until  the 
Captain  had  uttered  his  assent.  Nobody  so  much  as 
smiled  at  his  best  jokes  until  the  Captain  had  laughed. 
Once,  when  he  had  made  a  clever  hit  at  the  patriots, 
and  the  Captain  had  failed  to  even  look  amused,  there 
was  a  general  and  awful  silence.  It  seemed  to  Huldah 
as  if  nobody  under  the  canopy  of  heaven  would  ever 


Colonial   Pacificos  19 

dare  speak  again.  In  her  embarrassment  she  turned 
and  addressed  an  awkward  word  to  Farnlee. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  she  giggled  and  bridled,  "  that  you 
find  my  left  shoulder  rather  cold." 

The  phrase  was  so  cruelly  true  that  Ash  could  not 
muster  voice  to  answer;  and  Huldah,  judging  that  he 
was  angry,  vengefully  resumed  her  chattering  with 
Moorcastle. 


CHAPTER  III 

A   WOUNDED   heart's   REVOLT 

JEHIEL  OAKBRIDGE  saw  with  grief  that  a  cool- 
ness  had  sprung  up  between  his  daughter  and  the 
young  fellow  whom  he  would  have  been  glad  and  proud 
to  welcome  as  his  son-in-law. 

**  We  don't  often  have  company,  Ash,"  he  whis- 
pered. "  But  this  gentleman  has  favored  us  in  the 
way  of  passes,  and  a  dinner  seemed  about  the  best 
way  to  get  even  with  him." 

Then,  to  divert  the  youngster's  sorrowful  soul,  he 
tried  to  talk  to  him  about  his  alma  mater ^  Harvard 
College.  But  the  subject  was  promptly  seized  upon 
by  Moorcastle,  who  inquired  with  astonishment  if  there 
was  really  a  college  in  the  province,  and  suggested  that 
perhaps  Oakbridge  meant  an  academy.  Thereafter  he 
rehearsed  reminiscences  of  his  own  university  studies, 
such  as  fighting  bargemen,  eating  forbidden  suppers, 
and  dodging  the  proctors.  The  narratives  were  some- 
what startling  to  Puritan  ears,  but  every  one  laughed 
over  them  except  Mrs.  Jehiel  Oakbridge  and  Farnlee. 
The  young  man,  left  to  silence  and  his  own  sorrowful 
brooding,  listened  to  this  sycophantic  merriment  with 
a  growing  bitterness,  which,  little  as  he  then  suspected 
it,  bore  a  relation  to  the  fate  of  kingdoms  and  to  the 
future  of  humanity. 

20 


A  Wounded  Heart's  Revolt  21 

Erelong  his  sullenness  was  aroused  to  anger.  The 
wine-bibbing  Captain  had  got  upon  the  colonial  ques- 
tion, discussing  it  with  the  scoffing  superficiality  of  a 
true  English  Tory  of  the  period. 

Nobody  can  tell  what  these  grunablers  want,"  he 
declared.  "  Now  they  roar  for  this  and  now  for  that. 
I  don't  believe  they  know  what  they  want  themselves, 
and  we  certainly  can't  tell  them,  by  Jove.  I  assure 
you  that  the  whole  senseless  bow-wow  is  regarded  with 
great  contempt  in  England.  People  scarcely  know 
anything  about  it." 

I  believe  you  are  right  there,  sir,"  broke  in  Farn- 
lee,  speaking  for  the  first  time  to  the  whole  company. 
"  I  understand  from  Mr.  Josiah  Quincy,  who  has  lately 
returned  from  London,  that  the  main  trouble  in  this 
matter  is  the  ignorance  of  the  English  concerning  the 
colonies.  Colonel  Barre  told  him  that  one  half  at 
least  of  the  English  people  supposed  that  the  Ameri- 
cans were  some  kind  of  blacks." 

Colonel  Barr^  said  that  ?  "  demanded  the  Captain, 
angry  at  the  mere  name  of  Barre.  Then  he  laughed 
harshly  and  added :  "  Well,  for  once  Colonel  Barr^  was 
right.  That  's  just  what  we  do  suppose,  by  Jove. 
Why,  let  me  tell  you,  I  was  doosidly  surprised  myself, 
when  we  landed  over  here,  to  find  that  you  were  all 
white.  Why,  hang  me  if  I  did  n't  keep  saying  to 
myself  for  two  or  three  days,  '  These  beggars  are  as 
white  as  I  am.'  'Pon  me  soul  that  's  the  fact  now,  if 
you  care  to  know  it,"  he  concluded,  leaning  forward 
to  stare  laughingly  in  Farnlee's  face. 

Two  at  least  of  the  company  echoed  the  noble  young 
gentleman's  merriment.     Sister  Ann  shook  in   every 


22  A   Lover's  Revolt 

fibre  of  her  honest  English  bulk,  and  Uncle  Fenn 
nearly  went  into  a  bootlicking  apoplexy. 

Moorcastle,  judging  that  he  was  making  himself 
agreeable,  continued  his  genialities.     "  And  you  see 

the  consequence,  don't  you,  Mr.  excuse  me  for 

not  remembering  your  name.  You  see  the  inevitable 
consequence.  There  you  have  one  reason  why  we 
think  it  so  extraordinary  impudent  on  the  part  of  these 
fellows  to  be  bawling  for  English  liberties.  What  the 
doose,  you  comprehend,  have  English  liberties  to  do 
with  a  pack  of  blackamoors  ?  " 

The  meek  flunkeys  and  sincere  Tories  who  were  there 
present  giggled  again.  Farnlee  did  not  smile ;  he 
glanced  around  the  tittering  table  in  angry  astonish- 
ment; but  when  he  saw  Huldah  laughing  he  drooped 
his  head  and  fell  dumb.  It  was  something  like  Caesar 
covering  his  face  when  he  beheld  the  dagger  of  Brutus. 

The  Captain,  having  thus  settled  Farnlee,  resumed 
his  review  of  the  situation,  and  of  course  soon  entered 
upon  affairs  military. 

"  There  '11  be  no  fighting  at  all,"  he  said  jauntily. 
"  Now  'pon  me  soul,  Miss  Oakbridge,  you  need  n't  be 
in  the  least  afraid  that  the  cannons  will  go  bang  and 
make  you  shriek,  as  I  of  course  hope  you  would,  out 
of  compliment  to  us  fellows  in  red  jackets."  (Here 
Huldah  must  giggle  again,  and  roll  up  her  eyes  at 
him  coquettishly,  and  wonder  if  he  really  meant  it ; 
but  the  Captain  was  soon  talking  about  some  other 
fellows,  who  were  away  back  in  the  woods  and  swamps, 
collecting  flour  and  gunpowder.)  "  Well,  now,  we 
don't  mind  all  that  a  bit,  demme  if  we  do, — excuse 
me,  reverend  sir."  (Uncle  Fenn,  flattered  at  being 
personally  addressed,  made  a  gracious  inclination  and 


A  Wounded   Heart's  Revolt  23 

smiled.)  "  Because,  don't  you  see,"  continued  the 
Captain,  pouring  out  for  himself  a  tenth  glass  of  ma- 
deira, "  you  see,  whenever  the  General  wants  those 
stores,  he  will  send  a  battalion  and  take  them.  Some 
time  in  the  summer,  when  the  stores  are  sufficient  to 
justify  the  trouble,  and  when  the  marching  is  good, 
the  business  will  receive  attention.  Depend  upon  it, 
the  job  will  be  attended  to,  'pon  me  soul  it  will,  assure 
ye. 

Of  course  he  was  romancing.  No  measurable  quan- 
tity of  madeira  could  have  made  him  leak  headquarter 
secrets.  In  part  he  was  amusing  himself  with  his 
provincial  listeners,  and  in  part  he  was  endeavoring 
to  set  afloat  a  misleading  report.  The  expedition  to 
Concord  would  take  place  long  before  summer  should 
come. 

Uncle  Fenn  loudly  commended  the  General's  strat- 
egy, and  prophesied  that  it  would  result  in  victory. 

"  Pooh!  "  laughed  Moorcastle.  "  Victory  ?  Why, 
there  won't  be  a  fight.  I  don't  look  for  a  show  of 
resistance.  You  '11  see  what  these  Minute  Men  are,  if 
their  bad  luck  should  ever  get  them  into  a  skirmish. 
My  belief  is  (you  must  excuse  me,  Mistress  Oakbridge ; 
I  see  that  you  are  something  of  a  Yankee),  my  positive 
belief  is  that  those  fellows  are  a  pack  of  cowards,  just 
fit  to  tar  and  feather  old  grannies."  (Signs  of  assent 
from  Parson  Fenn,  followed  by  a  tremor  and  flush  of 
confusion,  the  word  "  granny  "  being  unflattering.) 
"  And  if  they  should  try  to  fight,"  continued  the  Cap- 
tain, "  what  would  be  the  upshot  of  it  ?  How  can 
they  resist  the  king's  troops  ?  Why,  mark  this," — and 
here  he  became  entirely  serious, — "  mark  what  I  tell 
you  as  a  British  officer  and  gentleman  :  any  two  bat- 


24  A  Lover's  Revolt 

talions  in  his  Majesty's  service — any  two  of  the  smallest 
and  worst,  I  say — could  march  from  end  to  end  of  this 
colony;  and  so,  if  necessary,  they  will." 

"  As  prisoners,"  responded  a  voice  shaking  with 
anger. 

It  was  the  voice  of  Asahel  Farnlee.  Every  one  stared 
at  him  in  amazement  or  wrath.  Moorcastle  turned 
crimson,  and  showed  his  long  front  teeth  wolfishly, 
but  merely  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Another  time,  sir." 

Farnlee,  without  answering,  rose  from  table. 

"  What  's  the  matter.  Ash  ?  "  implored  Jehiel  Oak- 
bridge,  seizing  him  by  the  hand. 

The  young  man  did  not  notice  him ;  he  was  looking 
down  at  Huldah.  The  girl  was  very  angry,  for  she 
had  seen  how  angry  Moorcastle  was,  and  so  she  must 
be  bitter  with  her  patriotic  lover.  She  returned  his 
reproachful  gaze  with  as  much  vindictiveness  as  she 
could  put  into  her  lovely  blue  eyes.  Ash  released  his 
hand  from  Oakbridge's,  bowed  to  the  senior  Mrs. 
Oakbridge,  and  left  the  house. 

"  Let  him  go,"  called  Uncle  Fenn  to  his  distressed 
brother.  "  He  is  a  rebel — a  rebel  in  blood  and  bone — 
a  rebel  by  inheritance.  I  desire  to  speak  respectfully 
of  age,  and  to  bear  evil  testimony  against  no  man ;  but 
I  never  yet  beheld  Squire  Dixwell  Farnlee  without 
thinking  of  Cromwell  and  all  the  regicides.  If  I  were 
a  king,  and  had  to  sleep  in  the  same  house  with  that 
man,  I  should  expect  to  have  my  head  and  my  crown 
flung  out  of  the  window  before  morning.  From  com- 
munion with  all  such  let  us  deliver  our  souls  and  set 
apart  our  feet !  ' ' 

The  parson  had  meant  to  be  solemn,  but  Moorcastle 
burst  out  laughing.     "  'Pon  me  soul  that  's  a  rare  joke 


A  Wounded   Heart's  Revolt  25 

about  one's  head  being  flung  out  of  the  window,"  he 
said,  staring  coolly  at  the  old  gentleman's  huge  caput, 
as  if  he  were  thinking  how  it  would  smash.  "  Of 
course  you  understand,  reverend  sir,  it  's  rather  diffi- 
cult to  imagine  you  going  to  bed  with  your  crown  on. 
But  who  is  the  excitable  departed  ?  Not  a  relative, 
I  trust.  And  not  to  be  one,  I  hope,"  he  added,  turning 
an  audacious  quizzical  stare  upon  Huldah. 

The  pretty  little  turncoat  wished  that  she  had  never 
seen  Ash  Farnlee,  and  redderl^  in  speechless  misery. 
Sister  Ann,  coloring  too  with  anxiety,  hastened  to 
the  rescue. 

"  Don't  think  it,  Capting  Moorksle.  He  's  just  a 
school  acquaintance  of  me  sister's.  I  cawn't  onder- 
stand  why  he  should  'a'  broke  out  as  he  did.  I  'm 
sure  it  was  quite  oncalled  for.     Such  igspressions!  " 

"  He  's  not  waiting  outside  with  a  ducking-gun,  I 
hope,"  said  Moorcastle,  pretending  to  look  with  alarm 
at  the  window. 

"  Ash  is  a  good,  quiet  boy,"  returned  the  elder  Mrs. 
Oakbridge,  who  really  did  not  understand  the  Captain's 
fun.  "  It  surprised  me  very  much  that  he  should 
exhibit  such  excitement.  I  cannot  imagine  him  as 
wishing  to  shed  blood." 

Uncle  Fenn  was  indignant.  "  Pretty  goodness!  " 
he  cried.  "  Vastly  pretty  goodness,  to  flout  and  defy 
the  king's  troops!  As  a  loyal  subject,  and  as  a  clergy- 
man of  the  Church  of  England,  I  protest  against  apply- 
ing the  term  goodness  to  treason  and  traitors." 

Jehiel  Oakbridge  and  his  wife  glanced  at  each  other, 
glanced  at  the  red-coated  guest,  and  kept  silence. 
Each  was  signalling  to  the  other  to  have  patience,  and 
not  be  inhospitable. 


26  A  Lover's  Revolt 

"  As  a  martyr  in  the  king's  cause,"  continued  the 
parson,  "  I  have  a  right  to  denounce  this  demon  of  in- 
surrection." Then  he  told  the  story  of  his  exile: — 
how  he  had  preached  the  gospel  of  loyalty  in  Tarry- 
town  ;  how  he  had  been  warned  out  of  the  place  by  a 
committee  of  whiggish  sons  of  Belial;  and  how  he  had 
escaped  tarring  and  feathering  by  the  favor  of  God  and 
a  one-horse  shay.  "  Yet  I  complain  not, — I  am  glad 
to  suffer  in  such  a  cause,"  he  concluded,  looking  at  the 
Captain  in  hope  of  a  coiftpliment. 

But  Moorcastle  was  by  this  time  pretty  well  flown 
with  wine,  and  he  saw  everything  from  a  jovial  point 
of  view,  or  from  a  braggartly  martial  one. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  face  'em,  sir  ?  "  he  demanded  in 
a  tone  of  trooperish  chaffing.  "  Those  fellows  are  all 
as  cowardly  as  the  geese  they  pluck.  If  you  had 
waited  for  them  and  faced  them,  they  would  have  run 
like  lamplighters." 

"  Another  time  I  will,"  promised  Uncle  Fenn,  try- 
ing to  look  fierce. 

The  Captain  was  immensely  entertained.  He  sur- 
veyed the  parson's  flabby  face,  his  chalky  fingers,  his 
protuberant  abdomen ;  and  he  could  scarce  forbear 
laughing  at  the  idea  of  that  poor  old  corporation 
plunging  into  combat.  Then  he  looked  around  the 
table  for  some  other  subject  of  mockery. 

For  by  this  time  he  was  less  of  a  gentleman  than  he 
had  been  an  hour  before,  as  well  as  a  less  agreeable 
object  to  look  upon.  The  wine  had  overheated  his 
usually  cool  British  brain,  and  had  crept  like  a  fire  from 
one  to  another  of  his  embryonic  pimples,  flushing  his 
face  to  a  spotty  crimson.  He  was  in  a  mood  for 
chaffing  any  and   every  provincial,  whether  Whig  or 


A  Wounded   Heart's  Revolt  27 

Tory.  He  was  as  completely  at  ease  with  his  hosts  as 
he  would  have  been  with  a  kitchen  full  of  English 
valets  and  maid  servants.  His  voice  was  as  positive,  if 
not  quite  as  stentorian,  as  if  he  had  been  drilling  a 
company  of  grenadiers.  Had  Farnlee  now  been 
present,  the  Captain  would  have  insulted  him.  Farn- 
lee being  absent,  he  singled  out  John  Oakbridge  to 
represent  him  as  the  champion  of  rebellion,  and  gave 
the  mild,  lumpish,  humbly  smiling  storekeeper  a 
humorous  bullying. 

"  Ha!  I  see,  sir,"  he  bugled.  "  You  expect  to 
withstand  our  brave  fellows.  What  do  you  know 
about  the  art  of  war,  sir  ?  We  advance  upon  you  in 
echelon.  We  turn  your  left  flank — or  your  right  flank 
either  —  no  matter  which.  You  see  us  where  you 
did  n't  expect  us,  sir.  You  take  to  your  heels.  But 
the  light  companies  are  after  you,  and  the  horse-guards, 
and  the  dragoons.  Your  Yankee  legs  can't  waggle 
fast  enough.  You  are  cut  down,  or  captured,  every 
man  of  you,  sir.  Now,  sir,  implore  the  king's  grace, 
and  save  your  rebel  neck,  sir." 

Then  he  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter  over  his  cavalry 
wit.  "  Oh,  'pon  me  soul,  I  don't  mean  you  person- 
ally," he  explained.  "  I  just  set  you  up  for  Yankee 
Doodle  in  general.  I  am  ready  to  believe  that  you 
are  a  good  subject  of  the  king,  God  bless  him." 

If  any  one  felt  anger,  no  one  showed  it.  Even  the 
master  and  mistress  of  the  house  meekly  labored  to 
smile.  The  wife  of  bullied  John  Oakbridge,  consider- 
ably sodden  with  madeira,  giggled  convulsively  at 
every  sentence  of  the  young  hero,  gasping  out,  **  Oh, 
Capting  Moorksle!  "  Uncle  Fenn  nodded  assent  per- 
severingly,  like  a  crockery  mandarin  on  a  pivot,  and  at 


28  A  Lover's  Revolt 

the  close  of  the  chaffing  oration  drank  Majesty's  health 
in  all  seriousness. 

At  last  the  heathen  damsel  from  the  Gold  Coast 
looked  in  to  say  that  the  gemman's  trooper  had  come 
for  him. 

*  *  Tell  him  to  wait, '  *  shouted  Moorcastle.  '  *  Ah  no ! 
— by  Jove,  no!  Duty  before  pleasure.  The  General 
is  mightier  than  even  you,  Miss  Oakbridge ;  I  must  go. " 

There  was  a  confused  shaking  of  hands,  with  press- 
ing invitations  to  call  again,  and  promises  to  come,  by 
Jove.  Sister  Ann  vigorously  shoved  Huldah  into  the 
hall  on  the  trail  of  the  guest ;  then  she  closed  the  door, 
set  her  broad  back  against  it,  and  smilingly  winked  at 
her  husband. 

Huldah,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  was  alone  with 
Moorcastle,  confused,  frightened,  and  throbbingly 
happy  all  at  once.  Not  knowing  how  else  to  please 
him,  she  m.ade  a  girlish  pretence  of  being  anxious  for 
his  safety ;  there  were  so  many  rebels  in  Boston !  and 
what  if  he  should  meet  Mr.  Farnlee ! 

''Oh,  come  now!"  he  laughed.  "That  's  too 
funny,  your  worrying  for  me.  But  all  the  same,  it  's 
most  flattering  and  cheering." 

He  had  taken  her  by  the  hand,  and  now  he  sud- 
denly threw  his  left  arm  around  her  waist,  the  auda- 
cious and  conquering  arm  of  a  high-born  Briton.  There 
was  a  rustling  struggle,  the  faint  struggle  of  a  colonial 
soul  against  English  domination,  and  when  it  ended, 
a  wine-scented  kiss  had  been  laid  on  a  splendid  blush. 

It  was  all  over,  and  yet  Huldah  uttered  a  cry,  and 
the  Captain  growled  an  oath.  There  had  been  an  un- 
expected and  most  unwelcome  witness  to  the  kiss. 
The  outer  door  was  open,  and  within  it  stood  Asahel 


A  Wounded  Heart's  Revolt  29 

Farnlee,  his  usually  ruddy  face  as  gray  as  ashes.  The 
young  man,  after  a  long  and  sorrowful  walk  by  him- 
self, had  returned  to  the  house  in  a  mood  of  deep 
compunction,  purposing  to  confess  before  the  whole 
family  that  he  had  shown  an  unworthy  temper,  and  to 
beseech  therefor  the  forgiveness  of  one  and  all,  even 
that  of  Captain  Moorcastle.  In  his  haste  he  had 
opened  the  door  without  knocking;  and  there  he 
stood,  a  ghastly  image  of  humiliation  and  misery. 

In  an  instant  he  turned  and  walked  away,  quietly 
passing  the  trooper  who  waited  at  the  gate,  but  casting 
at  him  a  glance  which  made  the  cherry-cheeked  youth 
draw  back  his  horse.  It  was  the  glance  of  a  colonist 
who  had  declared  war  upon  the  mother  country  and  all 
that  represented  it. 

A  man  who  is  caught  kissing  a  girl  not  fairly  his  own 
is  pretty  sure  to  feel  disgusted  with  the  situation,  and 
perhaps  also  a  little  angry  with  the  girl,  as  if  she  were 
to  blame  for  the  whole  business.  Moorcastle  put  on 
his  hat,  pulled  it  off  to  make  a  formal  bow,  and  tramped 
out  of  the  house  without  speaking.  Huldah  remained 
alone,  throbbing  and  panting  as  if  from  a  race,  and 
wondering  wretchedly  if  anybody  loved  her. 

Then  Sister  Ann  stole  out  to  her,  giggled  knowingly 
into  her  abashed  face,  passed  a  caressing  arm  around 
her  waist,  and  asked,  "  Did  he  ?  " 

"  Ash  Farnlee  saw  it,"  gasped  Huldah,  bursting 
into  tears  of  shame  and  contrition. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  judged  Sister  Ann,  after  a 
moment  of  troubled  reflection.  **  That  gets  rid  of 
Farnlee,  and  fixes  Capting  Moorksle.  Come  hupstairs 
and  tell  us  hall  about  it.  Lud!  we  '11  see  you  in  the 
peeritch  yet." 


CHAPTER  IV 

CONSPIRATORS 

SQUIRE  DIXWELL  FARNLEE  of  Lexington 
was  in  Boston  at  this  time.  He  had  put  up  at 
the  Swan  Tavern,  hoping  perhaps  to  get  news  there  of 
Gage's  military  plans,  for  the  hostelrie  was  much  fre- 
quented by  British  officers  and  convivial  Tories.  Asahel 
found  him  in  his  bedchamber,  his  huge  silver  spectacles 
astride  of  his  Roman  nose,  transferring  some  notes  from 
his  memorandum  book  to  a  sheet  of  letter-paper. 

"  Excuse  me,  honored  sir,  for  presuming  to  interrupt 
you,"  said  the  young  man.  He  stopped,  pressed  one 
hand  against  his  chin  to  repress,  or  hide,  its  quivering, 
and  continued  in  a  low,  hesitating  voice,  **  I  have 
something  of  moment  to  communicate." 

The  Squire  laid  aside  his  spectacles  and  pointed  to  a 
chair.  Then  came,  in  broken  sentences,  mingled  with 
occasional  gasps  and  chokings,  the  miserable  story  of 
the  dinner.  It  was  not  a  purposed  confession,  but  an 
unrestrainable  cry  for  pity.  The  suffering  boy  could 
hide  nothing,  neither  the  arrogances  of  Moorcastle,  nor 
the  sycophancies  of  the  Oakbridges,  nor  the  slights  of 
Huldah,  nor  even  the  kiss.  The  story  panted  onward, 
from  one  throb  of  anguish  to  another,  until  everything 
had  come  out. 

The  Squire  listened  in  silence,  but  with  a  gathering 

30 


Conspirators  31 

frown  of  his  bushy  brows,  and  a  deepening  glow  of 
anger  in  his  hollow  eyes.  At  last,  when  the  tale  of 
the  kiss  had  been  sobbed  forth,  he  said,  "  You  must 
never  speak  to  that  young  woman  again." 

Ash  laid  his  head  between  his  hands  on  the  writing 
table  and  made  no  reply.  The  father  rose  and  walked 
the  room,  a  tall,  gaunt,  imposing  figure,  limping  a 
little  with  his  right  leg,  for  he  had  been  wounded  in 
the  last  French  war.  Erelong  he  paused  and  faced  his 
son  with  an  air  of  impatience. 

"  Asahel,  be  aman!  "  he  said.  "Forget  her!  That 
is  your  duty  as  one  who  should  desire  his  own  respect. 
But  I  mean  more  than  that.  We  all  must  be  men. 
We  must  turn  our  backs  on  our  own  servility.  We 
must  be  Englishmen ;  we  must  have  the  same  rights 
and  honor  as  Englishmen ;  or  we  must  die  sword  in 
hand." 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  it  all  meant,"  groaned  Asahel, 
referring  to  the  Oakbridges.  "  I  was  as  good  as  they 
were,  but  I  was  n't  as  good  as  that  Englishman.  She 
thought  so,  and  they  all  thought  so,  and  I  thought  so 
too." 

"  But  you  did  finally  raise  the  standard  of  revolt  ?  " 
demanded  the  Squire. 

"  Yes;  she  stung  me  to  it.  I  should  have  knuckled 
down  like  the  rest,  only  she  drove  me  mad.  But  that 
is  over.  Hereafter  I  am  with  you  in  this  struggle. 
Hereafter,  if  I  ever  do  meet  an  Englishman  again,  he 
shall  treat  me  on  equal  terms,  or  I  will  fight  him." 

The  Squire  seemed  to  feel  that  enough  had  been  said 
on  that  point.  He  drifted  into  a  long  discourse  upon 
the  unjust  pretensions  and  policy  of  George  HI.,  Lord 
North,  and  the  English  Tories.     Taxation  without  rep- 


32  A  Lover's  Revolt 

resentation  had  been  the  dream  of  every  wicked  and 
every  silly  king  of  Great  Britain.  In  struggling  against 
that  outrage  the  colonists  were  fighting  the  battle  of 
their  relatives  in  the  old  country.  It  was  their  duty, 
their  privilege,  their  glory,  as  men  of  English  blood, 
to  continue  this  battle  and  to  win  it. 

"  We  shall  triumph,  Asahel,"  prophesied  the  old 
gentleman,  his  haggard  features  lighting  up  with  en- 
thusiasm. "  We  shall  triumph  swiftly,  and  almost 
without  bloodshed.  When  the  king  discovers,  when 
North  and  the  Tory  squires  discover,  that  we  mean  war 
rather  than  submission  to  unconstitutional  taxation, 
they  will  recede  from  their  wicked  purpose.  They 
must :  they  will  have  no  army  for  such  a  war :  English- 
men will  not  list  to  fight  against  liberty.  Even  now 
the  battaHons  are  being  recruited  mainly  with  wild 
Irish  and  mountain  Scotch.  The  men  who  can  under- 
stand the  tongue  of  Chatham  spurn  the  royal  shilling." 

The  Squire  sat  down,  drew  several  deep  breaths, 
struck  his  clenched  fist  on  his  bony  knee,  and  resumed 
his  oration. 

"  Yes,  it  will  be  a  brief  struggle,  and  very  nearly 
bloodless,  Asahel.  The  defence  will  be  here,  and  the 
victory  in  England.  Lord  North  will  be  driven  from 
power;  our  misguided  monarch  will  be  forced  to  ac- 
cept Chatham  for  minister;  and  the  lunatical  scheme 
of  unlawful  taxation  will  have  burst  like  a  bubble. 
Once  more  we  shall  be  on  filial,  loving  terms  with  the 
honored  mother  country." 

It  was  obvious  that  the  Squire  had.  not  the  dimmest 
foresight  of  the  coming  Declaration  of  Independence. 
A  man's  acts  often  prophesy  far  more  accurately  than 
his  words,  and  thoughts,  and  purposes. 


Conspirators  ^2> 

The  crowned  Dummerkopf  of  Great  Britain  was  not 
brought  to  his  senses  by  a  lack  of  soldiers ;  he  was  able 
to  hire  German  bayonets,  and  so  to  continue  his  ill- 
advised  struggle  with  his  loyal  subjects.  The  warfare 
which  ensued  was  a  warfare  of  law-loving  Englishmen 
dwelling  in  America,  against  a  mercenary  army  com- 
posed almost  entirely  of  Gaelic  Irishmen,  Gaelic 
Scotchmen,  Brunswickers,  and  Hessians,  set  in  the 
field  by  a  monarch  whose  blood  was  nine  tenths  Guelph 
and  one  tenth  Stuart. 

When  the  Squire  had  ended  his  speech  he  hastily 
folded  and  sealed  the  sheet  of  letter  paper  on  which  he 
had  been  writing.  "  I  must  get  me  back  to  Lexing- 
ton, Asahel,"  he  said.  "  I  have  momentous  news  for 
our  Minute  Men.  They  will  soon  be  called  on,  if  I 
mistake  not,  to  turn  out  in  haste.  I  have  heard  dis- 
quieting things  since  I  arrived.  You  will  take  this 
letter  to  Doctor  Joseph  Warren,  and  will  ask  for  his 
orders.  If  he  says  remain,  make  your  home  at  this 
house,  and  learn  what  you  can.  Here  is  money  for 
your  maintenance." 

Ash  respectfully  assisted  at  his  sire's  departure,  and 
then  set  off  to  find  the  celebrated  patriot  orator. 
Glancing  at  his  turnip-shaped  silver  watch,  he  was 
amazed  to  find  that  it  was  after  five  o'clock.  What 
had  become  of  the  miserable  afternoon  ?  Then  he 
remembered  with  difificulty  (as  if  it  had  happened 
years  ago)  that,  after  leaving  the  Oakbridges,  and  be- 
fore returning  to  the  Swan  Tavern,  he  had  taken  a 
wild,  fierce  walk  about  the  city,  striving  to  fly  from 
grief. 

He  made  a  considerable  circuit  to  avoid  seeing  the 
house  where  his  heart  had  been  broken.      But  he  be- 

3 


34  A  Lover's  Revolt 

held  Huldah  all  the  same.  Her  blond  merry  face,  her 
blue  eyes  and  rosy  lips,  were  constantly  before  him, 
sometimes  as  kindly  as  ever,  and  seeming  to  plead 
with  him  not  to  hate  her.  Oh,  how  he  longed  to  for- 
give her  and  be  reconciled  with  her!  Again  and  again 
he  shook  his  head  violently  to  drive  away  that  lovely 
haunting  face. 

Warren's  residence  was  a  plain  wooden  house  of 
moderate  size  with  a  neglected  and  shabby  exterior, 
as  though  the  owner  had  little  money  to  spare  for  ap- 
pearances. Farnlee's  knock  brought  to  the  door  a  girl 
of  about  ten,  dressed  in  a  frock  of  originally  nice 
material,  but  now  outgrown  and  frayed. 

"  Father  is  out,"  she  said.  "  But  will  you  please 
enter  ?  There  is  n't  any  fire  in  the  ofifice.  If  you 
want  to  dry  your  feet,  you  must  come  into  the  kitchen. 
Father  may  be  back  soon." 

It  was  spoken  glibly  and  without  shyness,  as  if  she 
were  accustomed  to  attending  to  visitors.  In  the 
kitchen  Ash  found  a  table  spread,  and  three  younger 
children  seated  at  it,  the  smallest  not  more  than  four 
years  old.  The  meal  consisted  of  mush  and  milk,  a 
broad  cake  of  corn  bread,  and  water  for  drink.  The 
platter,  the  plates,  and  the  mugs  were  of  pewter,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  day  except  among  the  very  rich. 
There  was  a  barrenness  about  the  room  which  corre- 
sponded with  the  ill-kempt  exterior  of  the  dwelling. 
Ash  queried  with  pained  amazement  whether  it  were 
possible  that  Joseph  Warren,  the  brilliant  orator,  one 
of  the  chiefs  of  the  province,  could  be  poor. 

"  Are  you  one  of  the  Doctor's  children  ?  "  he  asked, 
seating  himself  in  a  corner  of  the  cavernous  chimney. 

"  Yes;  my  name  is  Elizabeth,  and  I  am  the  oldest," 


Conspirators  35 

the  girl  replied  with  evident  satisfaction.  "  I  am  the 
housekeeper  now.  You  knew  mother  was  dead,  did  n't 
you  ? 

"  I  was  n't  sure,"  stammered  Ash,  kindly  unwilling 
to  admit  that  he  knew  nothing  about  it. 

"  Oh!  "  said  Elizabeth,  obviously  mortified. 

"  But  I  don't  live  in  Boston,"  he  hastened  to  ex- 
plain. 

"Oh!"  returned  Elizabeth,  brightening  again. 
"  Well,  you  see,  old  Chloe— she  's  a  black  woman, 
you  must  know — she  does  the  heaviest  of  the  work. 
But  /am  the  housekeeper." 

**  And  can  you  govern  all  these  children  ?  I  don't 
believe  you  can  govern  that  little  fat  fellow." 

The  youngster  in  question,  with  one  brief  forefinger 
in  his  mouth,  gave  Ash  a  sidelong,  sulky  glance,  as  if 
he  would  like  to  have  that  subject  let  alone. 

"  I  have  to,"  said  Elizabeth  with  a  gravity  which 
confessed  that  the  task  was  not  always  a  pleasure. 
"  Father  says  I  imist.  But  now,  sir,  if  you  please,  we 
are  going  to  have  supper,  for  the  children  are  hungry, 
and  father  said  not  to  wait.  Will  you  sit  with  us, 
sir  ? 

Ash  doubted  if  there  would  be  enough  for  the  War- 
rens, so  lightly  was  the  table  spread.  He  was  glad  to 
be  able  to  say  that  supper  was  waiting  for  him  at  the 
tavern. 

"  Oh!  is  it  ?  "  smiled  Elizabeth.  "  Then  you  can 
go  on  warming  your  feet." 

She  made  him  a  shy,  half-way  courtesy,  and  skipped 
gayly  over  to  the  table.  The  chubby  youngster,  sus- 
pending his  luncheon  of  forefinger,  seized  a  slice  of 
corn  bread  and  lifted  it  to  his  mouth,  which  opened 


36  A  Lover's  Revolt 

so  wide  that  one  could  see  nearly  all  his  little  white 
teeth.  Elizabeth  swiftly  caught  his  fat  hand,  and  put 
it  smartly  down  on  the  patched  table-cloth. 

"  Topsyturvey !  "  she  cried  in  shrill  reproof.  "  You 
must  wait  for  the  blessing." 

Topsyturvey  stuck  out  his  under  lip,  but  he  bowed 
his  flaxen  head  with  the  others  while  Elizabeth  mur- 
mured a  childish  grace.  Then  the  little  housekeeper 
deftly  served  out  the  mush  and  milk  and  the  corn-cake. 
But  Topsyturvey  was  insurrectionary;  he  wanted  mo- 
lasses instead  of  milk. 

"  There  is  n't  any  molasses,"  said  Elizabeth. 
*'  God  does  n't  send  molasses  to  sulky  boys.  And 
besides,  it  's  hard  times  in  Boston.  You  must  eat 
what  is  set  before  you,  or  you  may  see  worse  times." 

Topsyturvey  stuck  out  his  lip  again,  and  made  a 
hitch  to  leave  the  table.  But  Elizabeth  sprawled  for- 
ward, grappled  him  by  one  fat  arm,  and  held  him  in  his 
chair. 

"  You  better  not  run  behind  the  door  to  pout,"  she 
said.  "  How  do  you  know  but  what  Punk  is  there  ?  " 
Turning  to  Farnlee  she  explained:  "  He  's  a  most 
dreadful  boy  for  pouting.  Whenever  he  used  to  be 
mad,  he  'd  go  behind  that  door  and  stick  out  both 
lips,  just  as  they  are  now.  But  he  's  ever  so  afeard 
of  yellow  punkins,  because  he  saw  one  once  that  had 
been  made  into  a  jackolantern,  and  it  had  great  awful, 
fiery  teeth.  So  one  day  father  put  a  punkin  behind 
the  door,  all  ready  for  him  to  be  naughty.  And  when 
Topsy  went  there  to  stick  out  his  lip,  oh!  did  n't  he 
come  flying  out  again,  squealing,  '  'Fraid  of  Punk! 
'fraid  of  Punk!'  And  now  he  don't  go  behind  the 
door  any  more.     Why  don't  you,  Topsy  ?  " 


Conspirators  37 

**  'Fraid  o'  Punk,"  confessed  Topsy,  with  the  air  of 
one  who  says,  "  I  know  I  'm  silly,  but  it  's  too  much 
for  me." 

His  fit  of  rebellion  was  over.  He  cast  a  sidelong 
glance  at  the  door,  as  if  to  make  sure  that  no  globular 
yellow  vegetable  were  stealing  out  upon  him,  and 
then  settled  down  to  a  steady  bout  with  his  nourish- 
ment. 

Presently  Warren  entered,  with  the  haste  of  a  man 
who  knows  that  he  is  late  to  supper,  and  does  not 
know  whether  he  will  be  allowed  time  to  finish  it. 
Ash  rose,  and  stammeringly  introduced  himself,  mean- 
while producing  his  letter. 

"  Ah!  you  are  the  son  of  Squire  Dixwell  Farnlee," 
said  Warren,  with  a  charming  smile,  though  in  the  next 
moment  he  glanced  at  the  sparely  furnished  table  and 
flushed  slightly.  "  He  is  one  of  our  truest  and  wisest. 
Sit  down  while  I  look  this  over." 

Ash  studied  him  as  he  stood  by  the  window  to  read. 
Warren  was  then  thirty-four  years  old,  and  evidently 
in  the  prime  of  health  and  strength,  though  his  smile 
revealed  the  fact  that  he  had  one  false  tooth.  His 
figure  was  fairly  tall,  of  medium  stoutness,  and  grace- 
ful in  carriage.  His  abundant  hair,  neatly  curled  and 
powdered,  waved  back  from  a  high  though  not  broad 
forehead,  and  fell  in  a  knot,  or  "  bag,"  over  the  turned- 
down  collar  of  his  coat.  His  profile  was  gently  aqui- 
line, and  there  was  a  considerable  fullness  to  the 
smoothly  shaven  cheeks,  as  well  as  just  below  the  jaws 
on  either  side.  The  lips  had  a  flexible  tumidity  which 
indicated  a  fondness  for  good  living,  and  for  the  physi- 
cal pleasures  of  life  in  general.  The  prevailing  expres- 
sion of  the  whole  countenance  was  a  calm,  polished 


38  A  Lover's  Revolt 

urbanity,  somewhat  too  settled  and,  so  to  speak,  in- 
tentional. 

An  acute  observer  would  have  said  that  here  was  a 
man  naturally  given  to  society  and  conviviality,  but 
able  to  turn  his  back  upon  them  in  obedience  to  duty 
or  ambition,  and  well  suited  to  rise  by  magnetizing 
and  winning  his  fellow-creatures. 

His  attire, — the  high  white  neckcloth,  the  wide  shirt 
collar  turned  over  it,  the  sky-blue  coat  of  fine  broad- 
cloth, the  yellow  vest  fringed  with  silk,  and  the  ruffled 
wristbands,  —  all  the  sartorial  man, — suggested  ex- 
travagance and  dandyism.  But  it  was  obvious  that 
this  sumptuous  raiment  had  been  purchased  many 
moons  since.  There  were  stains  on  the  vest,  and  the 
frills  showed  ragged  edges,  and  the  buttons  of  the  coat 
needed  refastening. 

Warren  read  the  letter  twice,  tossed  it  upon  the 
smouldering  fire,  and  poked  it  with  his  shoe  till  it 
blazed.  Then  he  threw  off  his  air  of  anxious  reflec- 
tion, and  turned  to  Farnlee  with  the  sweetest  possible 
smile  on  his  lips,  the  smile  of  a  genial  nature  accus- 
tomed to  be  a  favorite. 

"  I  crave  your  pardon  for  my  forgetfulness, "  he 
said.  "  Won't  you  favor  me  by  taking  supper  with 
me  ? 

Then,  seeing  how  little  was  left  of  the  frugal  meal, 
he  pouted  his  lips  discontentedly,  much  like  Topsy- 
turvey.  "  Is  that  the  best  you  could  do,  Betsy  ?  "  he 
asked.     "  No  potatoes  even  ?  " 

"  Don't  let  me  disturb  you  further,  Doctor,"  begged 
Farnlee.  **  I  have  supper  and  occupation  waiting  for 
me  at  the  Swan." 

It  is  lucky  for  you,"  said  Warren.     "  You  would 


Conspirators  39 

have  fared  scantily  here.     We  are  not  prosperous  just 
now,  we  Bostonians." 

The  young  man  rallied  his  wits  and  offered  a  com- 
forting compliment.  "  I  suppose  that  Paul  and  Silas 
often  supped  modestly  while  they  were  turning  the 
world  upside  down." 

Warren  laughed  outright.  "  You  cheer  me,"  he 
said,  clapping  Farnlee  on  the  shoulder.  "  Well,  yes! 
many  of  the  men  who  have  shaken  the  world  were 
poor;  they  had  not  time  to  make  money.  I  sometimes 
console  myself  with  remembering  that  our  glorious 
friend.  Lord  Chatham,  the  greatest  orator  since  De- 
mosthenes, is  head  over  heels  in  debt.  Am  I  talking 
too  much  of  this  matter  ?  Well,  I  am  sore  over  it,  for 
the  moment;  I  have  just  been  rubbed  about  my 
poverty.  As  I  was  coming  home  afoot  to  my  mush 
and  milk,  one  of  my  venerable  Tory  acquaintance, 
the  most  thriving  physician  in  Boston,  stopped  his 
chaise  and  gave  me  a  lecture.  '  Joseph,'  says  he,  *  why 
waste  your  time  in  politics  ?  If  you  would  only  mind 
your  profession,  you  might  ride  in  your  coach. '  Well^ 
of  course,"  continued  Warren  with  a  sigh,  *'  of  course 
I  would  like  a  coach.  Probably  there  is  n't  a  man  in 
Boston  who  better  loves  a  fine  horse,  a  fine  dinner, 
and  the  elegancies  of  life.  But  how  can  a  good  citizen 
let  politics  alone  in  such  a  time  as  this  ?  My  poor  old 
Tory  friend  does  n't  know  what  a  selfish,  cowardly, 
shrivelled  soul  he  has.  I  really  wanted  to  tell  him  of 
it.     But  that  would  have  been  an  incivility." 

He  laughed,  but  he  glanced  toward  the  table  again, 
and  then  he  sighed.  Probably  he  was  querying  what 
would  become  of  those  four  little  ones  in  case  he  should 
die  a  bankrupt.     But  Farnlee,  not  being  a  father,  in- 


40  A  Lovers  Revolt 

ferred  that  he  was  hungry.  The  thought  shocked  him, 
for  he  was  in  a  state  of  profound  reverence  for  this 
man,  and  here  he  was  keeping  him  from  table. 

"  I  must  go,  sir,"  he  said.     "  Can  I  be  of  any  use  ?  " 

"  What  was  the  last  news  in  Lexington,  from  Bos- 
ton ?  " 

"  Paul  Revere  was  there  yesterday.  He  said  that 
the  Somerset  had  been  brought  around  into  the  Charles- 
town  River;  that  the  grenadiers  and  light  infantry  had 
been  taken  off  picket-duty  on  pretence  of  teaching  them 
a  new  exercise ;  and  that  the  transports  had  been  hauled 
under  the  sterns  of  the  men-of-war." 

"  Yes,  that  was  the  last.  What  did  they  think  of 
it?" 

''  They  thought  it  serious.  They  have  begun  to  re- 
move the  stores  from  Concord." 

Here  there  came  from  the  table  a  sound  of  discord. 
Master  Topsyturvey  wanted  more  corn-cake,  and,  for- 
getting the  presence  of  his  father,  sought  to  get  it  by 
bawling.  Warren  faced  about  nervously ;  but  Elizabeth 
had  already  quelled  the  mutiny ;  her  small  red  hand 
was  over  the  rebel's  mouth. 

"  That  's  right,  Betsy,"  said  the  Doctor,  and  turn- 
ing quickly  to  Farnlee,  he  added:  "  They  do  well  to 
remove  the  stores.  I  think  there  will  be  an  advance 
upon  Concord  within  forty-eight  hours.  Suppose  you 
run  about  town  and  pick  up  what  reports  you  can. 
Go  where  you  think  best ;  hear  and  see  what  comes  in 
your  way;  and,  whatever  you  learn,  let  me  know  it. 
May  God  and  your  conscience  reward  you." 

Asahel  went  forth  under  a  spell.  He  had  talked 
with  one  of  those  men  who  are  born  to  bewizard  other 
men.     It  did    not    matter   that  the  magician  lacked 


Conspirators  41 

money,  that  his  raiment  needed  darning,  and  his  house 
painting.  It  did  not  matter  that  he  neglected  his 
practice,  and  that  his  loyalist  neighbors  called  him  a 
bankrupt  apothecary.  He  could  toil  and  succeed 
amazingly  where  he  chose  to  toil  and  succeed.  His 
time  was  crammed  with  public  business:  orations, 
newspaper  articles,  circulars,  letters,  patriotic  lyrics, 
squibs;  chairman  of  the  Massachusetts  Committee  of 
Safety,  now  that  Hancock  was  delegate  to  Phila- 
delphia; erelong  President  of  the  Massachusetts  Con- 
gress, and  chief  of  the  liberal  movement  in  the  colony ; 
and  only  thirty-four  years  old ! 

No  wonder  the  angry  Tories  charged  that  he  was 
devoured  by  ambition,  and  reported  that  he  had  sworn 
to  rise  above  every  rival  or  perish  in  the  attempt.  But 
his  ambition  was  for  precedence  in  duty,  and  the  rival 
that  he  meant  to  crush  was  despotism. 


CHAPTER  V 

WATCHING   FOR   A   SORTIE 

GOD  and  my  conscience!  "  Ash  repeated  to  him- 
self as  he  strode  off  to  spy  out  the  doings  and 
purposes  of  the  British  in  Boston. 

He  thought  at  the  time  that  he  had  a  motto  which 
would  strengthen  and  direct  him  through  all  the  years 
of  his  earthly  pilgrimage.  A  fortnight  later  it  had 
lost  its  witchery,  and  he  perhaps  had  some  other  battle- 
cry  on  his  youthful  lips. 

Farnlee  was  hungry,  and  he  hurried  to  the  Swan 
Tavern  for  supper,  hoping  that  it  might  invigorate 
him  to  do  much  profitable  spying.  After  supper  he 
listened  to  the  talk  of  a  dozen  redcoated  officers  who 
had  dropped  in  to  pass  the  evening  at  cards  and  ale. 
But  as  they  said  nothing  about  a  sally  upon  Concord, 
he  finally  went  forth  to  watch  the  barracks,  the  Charles- 
town  ferry,  the  frigates  in  the  harbor,  the  General's 
residence,  the  sentry  in  front  of  it,  and  various  other 
places  and  things,  all  without  picking  up  a  shred  of 
information.  By  midnight  he  had  gone  to  bed,  a 
disappointed  and  worn-out  detective. 

Next  morning  he  renewed  his  inexperienced  and 
desultory  espionage,  patrolling  Boston  at  random  and 
searching  for  some  one  whom  he  could  pump  with 
safety.     He  was  amazed  at  the  business  deadness  and 

42 


Watching  for  a  Sortie  43 

the  depopulation  of  the  city.  The  streets  were  nearly 
as  void  of  people  as  those  of  a  country  village.  At 
last  he  saw  an  apothecary  whom  he  knew,  standing 
with  folded  arms  and  scowling  brow  in  the  door  of  his 
shop,  and  looking  as  if  he  were  praying  for  smallpox 
and  typhus  fever.  But  Ash  remembered  having  heard 
that  the  man  was  a  Tory,  and  he  splashed  across  the 
muddy  street  in  order  to  pass  him  without  speaking. 

Then  he  came  within  distant  view  of  the  Oakbridge 
house,  and  halted  with  an  involuntary  scowl  to  gaze  at 
it.  What  was  sJie  doing  ?  Sweeping  and  dusting  the 
parlor  ?  Taking  her  two  steps  forward,  and  three 
back,  beside  the  whirring  spinning-wheel  ?  It  was  a 
faint  gratification  to  note  that  Captain  Moorcastle  was 
not  in  sight.  The  fear  of  seeing  him  arrive  and  swag- 
ger into  the  dwelling  made  Farnlee  turn  away  with  a 
start  and  hurry  onward. 

Reaching  Faneuil  Hall  (without  intending  to  go 
there)  he  stopped  to  gaze  at  the  two  brass  pieces  which 
sparkled  in  front  of  it,  sentinelled  by  an  artilleryman 
with  his  bright  sabre  at  his  shoulder.  The  red-faced 
veteran  gave  him  a  sidelong  glare  from  two  bloodshot 
eyes,  and  Ash  judged  it  best  to  saunter  away,  whistling 
God  Save  the  King,  an  instinctive  bit  of  hypocrisy. 

Next  he  wandered  toward  the  barracks.  There  too 
was  a  sentry,  and  at  one  end  of  his  beat  a  guard- 
relief,  the  dozen  or  so  of  shining  muskets  stacked,  and 
the  men  standing  in  groups,  or  sitting  on  a  long  bench. 
The  English  term  of  service  was  then  fourteen  years,- 
and  most  of  the  regiments  in  Boston  had  not  been 
much  recruited  for  some  time  back,  so  that  the  soldiers 
were  nearly  all  veterans.  They  looked  it ;  they  were 
neat,  stiff,  silent,  with  patient  eyes  and  grim  mouths; 


/      44  ^  Lover's  Revolt 

their  clean-shaved  mugs  had  an  expression  which  re- 
minded one  of  well-trained  bulldogs.  Ash  said  to 
himself  that  the  only  way  to  defeat  such  men  was  to 
resist  them  from  behind  breastworks,  or  to  attack 
them  by  ambushings  and  surprises.  The  French  had 
whipped  them  at  Ticonderoga;  the  Indians  had 
whipped  them  near  Fort  Duquesne;  why  should  n't 
Yankees  whip  them  ? 

Ash  now  went  to  the  Province  House  (the  General's 
official  headquarters)  to  show  his  pass  to  Lexington 
and  learn  whether  it  needed  any  further  endorsement. 
But  when  he  reached  the  steps,  he  suddenly  felt  that 
he  could  not  face  Captain  Moorcastle,  and  he  halted. 
A  natty  corporal,  with  light  blue  optics  and  a  pacific 
pugnose,  stepped  up  to  him  and  briskly  demanded  his 
business. 

"  Is  Lieutenant  Eastwold  in  ?  "  enquired  Farnlee, 
suddenly  calling  to  mind  the  name  of  one  of  the  junior 
staff -officers. 

"  'E  is  hout,"  said  the  corporal,  staring  him  straight 
in  the  eyes.  He  was  looking  at  the  visitor  as  he  had 
been  trained  to  look  at  every  man  whom  he  addressed, 
though  that  man  should  be  a  major-general. 

But  Farnlee,  unfamiliar  with  military  ways,  took  it 
for  granted  that  he  was  an  object  of  suspicion.  He 
muttered  something  about  calling  again,  and  hastened 
to  depart  before  he  should  be  seized  and  searched,  for 
he  had  certain  patriotic  memoranda  in  his  pocket-book 
which  might  get  him  into  serious  trouble. 

Erelong  he  stumbled  upon  the  harbor,  not  far  from 
Hancock's  Wharf.  The  sinuous  line  of  water-front, 
diversified  with  wooden  piers  and  jetties,  was  bare  of 
commerce  and  every  other  species  of  industry.     The 


Watching  for  a  Sortie  45 

only  vessels  at  the  anchorage  were  several  black,  lofty, 
lumpish  craft,  showing  rows  of  gun-ports  and  floating 
the  red  cross  of  the  mother  country.  Ash  looked 
about  him  for  indications  of  a  movement  on  the  part 
of  either  fleet  or  garrison.  Nothing  of  that  nature 
was  visible,  except  the  lurching  march  of  a  squad  of 
tarry  jackets,  brimming  full  of  Boston's  four-penny 
New  England  rum,  who  were  being  thumped  towards 
a  boat-stair  by  the  musket  butts  of  some  escorting 
redcoats. 

**  So  our  commerce  has  come  down  to  that,"  said 
our  newsmonger  to  a  seedy  citizen  who  was  vacantly 
watching  the  reshipment  of  Britain's  jolly  hearts  of  oak. 

**  Lord  !  if  we  could  ship  'em  all,  the  same  way!  " 
groaned  the  man.  "Yes,  look  at  our  port!  not  a 
trader  in  it !  And  look  at  me !  A  year  ago  I  had  de- 
cent clothes,  and  I  owned  a  sloop.  Now  I  'm  in  rags, 
and  my  family  too.  And  what  had  /  done  ?  Oh,  I 
know  it  was  hasty  to  fling  the  tea  overboard.  But 
Boston  might  have  paid  for  the  tea.  TJiey  did  n't 
want  the  pay  ;  they  wanted  to  ruin  us ;  and  they  have, 
curse  them !  Curse  the  ships,  and  the  sailors,  and  the 
Admiral!  Curse  the  soldiers,  and  the  of^cers,  and  the 
General!  Curse  the  Parliament,  and  the  old  country, 
too!  dod  blast  her!  " 

He  was  crimson  faced  and  out  of  breath  with  rage, 
while  at  the  same  time  there  were  tears  of  despair  in 
his  eyes. 

After  a  compassionate  silence  Farnlee  asked,  "  Is 
there  any  news  stirring  ?  anything  to  happen  ?  " 

"  Maybe.  Over  Charlestown  way,"  said  the  man. 
"  I  saw  more  boats  in  the  river  than  ever  I  saw  there 
be'fore, " 


46  A  Lover's  Revolt 

Not  many  minutes  later  Farnlee  was  standing  on 
the  ramshackle  wharf  of  the  Charlestown  ferry.  Little 
did  he  divine  that  the  landscape  now  before  him  would 
erelong  be  illuminated  in  letters  of  flame  and  blood 
which  should  make  it  famous  in  history.  Across  the 
narrow  strait  glinted  the  five  or  six  hundred  wooden 
houses  of  Charlestown.  Behind  them,  some  seventy- 
five  feet  above  the  water  level,  rose  the  abrupt  lumpish 
eminence  of  Breed's  Hill,  its  slopes  divided  into  lots 
by  rail  fences.  Beyond  it,  and  united  to  it  by  a  hol- 
lowing neck  of  land,  was  the  long  roll  of  Bunker  Hill, 
nearly  forty  feet  higher.  Quite  to  the  left,  facing  them 
both,  and  on  the  Boston  side  of  the  river,  was  Copp's 
Hill,  browed  along  its  northern  front  by  a  low  parapet 
wherefrom  peeped  the  muzzles  of  half  a  dozen  cannon. 
It  was  a  picturesque  landscape,  a  charmingly  varied 
combination  of  land  and  water,  the  earth  just  turning 
green  under  the  magic  of  spring,  and  the  river  spark- 
ling with  sunshine. 

Ash  merely  glanced  at  the  still  unrenowned  emi- 
nences. He  studied  for  some  minutes  the  sable  bulk  of 
the  Somerset,  a  sixty-eight-gun  ship  which  lay  in  the 
ferry-way.  Then  he  counted  six  other  men-of-war  in 
the  bay,  between  Charlestown  and  Noddle's  Island. 
There  were  transports,  too;  he  counted  them  all. 
Boats  in  plenty  he  noted,  some  of  them  swinging  at 
the  sterns  of  the  transports,  some  on  the  decks  of  the 
frigates  and  gun-brigs.  Not  knowing  what  he  ought 
to  report  to  Warren,  he  tried  to  observe  and  memorize 
everything.  He  counted  the  small  craft  at  the  wharf, 
two  ferryboats  and  eight  oyster  dugouts,  besides  a 
couple  of  navy  cutters  manned  by  bluejackets. 

The  cutters  of  course  belonged   to  vessels  in  the 


Watching  for  a  Sortie  47 

stream,  and  the  officers  whom  they  had  brought  ashore 
might  be  closeted  with  General  Gage,  or  they  might  be 
having  whist  and  punch  at  some  tavern. 

Presently  Ash  found  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  a 
ferryman,  beyond  the  hearing  of  the  bluejackets. 
"  There  are  boats  enough  here,"  he  said,  **  to  carry 
several  hundred  men." 

The  ferryman,  a  red-headed,  freckled  fellow,  who 
did  not  look  like  a  native  American,  turned  an  un- 
favorable, bleared  eye  upon  him,  and  replied,  "  Where- 
abouts do  ye  hail  from  ?  " 

His  face  wore  a  humorous  sneer,  the  expression  of  a 
man  who  believes  that  he  is  being  pumped,  and  who 
/aingloriously  resolves  that  the  pumping  shall  be  in 
vain.  Farnlee  perceived  that  he  had  to  do  with  a 
Scotchman,  very  likely  a  sailor  from  one  of  the  trans- 
ports, or  perhaps  from  one  of  the  frigates.  A  little 
angry  at  the  man's  tone,  he  looked  him  steadily  in  the 
eyes  and  demanded,  "  Which  of  these  ships  did  you 
come  in  ?  " 

"  Wad  yer  han'r  Hke  to  go  aboard  of  one  ?  "  replied 
the  undaunted  Sawney.  He  gave  his  sagging  tow 
trousers  an  upward  hitch,  and  shambled  down  the 
wharf  toward  the  cutters.  Farnlee  judged  it  wisest  to 
face  about  and  saunter  townward  with  the  leisurely 
gait  of  idle  innocence. 

Presently  he  came  upon  half  a  dozen  soldiers  kicking 
to  pieces  the  mud  fortification  of  a  pack  of  schoolboys, 
meantime  filling  the  air  with  outlandish  hoots  and 
yelpings  which  were  not  so  much  fierce  as  festive.  A 
squad  of  youngsters  stood  timidly  near  by,  sulkily 
watching  the  destruction  of  their  citadel.  One  ragged 
little  fellow,  who  had  run  off  to  a  safe  distance,  squealed 


48  A  Lover's  Revolt 

without  cessation,   "  Lobsters!    darned    old  lobsters! 
darned  old  British  lobsters!" 

**  Why  do  you  plague  the  boys  ?  "  called  Farnlee. 
"  The  General  gave  orders  last  winter  that  they  should 
be  allowed  to  build  their  little  forts." 

"  Hi  ?"  queried  one  of  the  men,  a  strongly  built 
young  fellow  with  a  freckled  face  and  a  merry  twinkle 
in  his  blue  eyes.  He  tried  to  reply  in  English,  and 
then  burst  into  a  voluble  scream  of  Erse,  meanwhile 
dancing  at  Ash  by  way  of  challenging  him  to  fight. 
An  older  soldier  pulled  him  away,  and  presently  they 
all  staggered  off  together,  chattering  gayly  in  their  own 
language. 

"  Ever  so  many  of  'em  are  Irish,"  said  one  of  the 
larger  boys.  **  And  they  are  a  good  deal  wilder  than 
our  Injuns,"  he  added  in  his  wrath. 

Do  you  know  of  any  troops  getting  together  to  go 
anywhere  ?  "  enquired  Farnlee. 

"  They  's  a  hull  regiment  out  on  the  Common," 
peeped  a  tiny  younker  with  round,  bulging  blue 
eyes. 

Ash  instantly  set  off,  at  his  fastest  walk,  to  find  the 
alleged  regiment.  He  was  soon  outside  of  the  little 
city,  and  on  the  borders  of  a  broad,  undulating  slope 
of  wild  pasture-land,  showing  a  few  rows  of  tents,  and 
three  or  four  scattered  buildings,  one  of  which  was 
the  powder-house.  In  the  centre  stood  a  battalion, 
drawn  up  in  square  facing  inwards,  and  sparsely  fringed 
with  citizen  spectators.  Our  young  patriot  hurried 
on,  wondering  in  his  innocence  if  he  should  hear  orders 
for  an  advance  on  Concord,  and  discovering  presently 
that  he  had  chanced  upon  a  flogging  scene. 

He  peered  between  the  motionless  cocked  hats  (each 


Watching  for  a  Sortie  49 

with  its  trim  bag  of  powdered  hair  drooping  behind) 
and  saw  a  half-naked  human  figure  lying  on  a  gun- 
carriage,  the  face  downward  and  the  wrists  bound 
underneath.  Hard  by  stood  a  drummer  in  shirt-sleeves, 
his  puffy  cheeks  flushed  and  his  low  forehead  beaded 
with  sweat,  swinging  the  crimsoned  thongs  of  the  cat 
with  mechanical  regularity.  The  strokes  fell  briskly, 
every  lash  raising  a  red  welt,  or  drawing  a  spirt  of 
blood. 

The  victim  quivered  at  each  blow,  but  did  not 
utter  a  cry.  A  surgeon,  with  head  slightly  drooped, 
watched  his  face;  and  a  sergeant-major,  standing  stiffly 
upright,  counted  the  blows.  The  ranks  of  neat, 
cleanly-shaven  soldiers  looked  on  with  a  stony  expres- 
sion which  seemed  absolute  indifference.  The  citizens, 
nearly  all  of  them  boys  or  fellows  of  the  baser  sort, 
peered  between  the  statuesque  files  with  an  automatic 
grin,  occasionally  muttering  to  each  other  such  com- 
ments as,  "  Good  stuff!  That  was  a  stinger!  Has  he 
fainted  ?  " 

Next  to  Farnlee,  attired  in  the  blue  shirt  and 
trousers  of  the  British  navy,  stood  a  gigantic  negro, 
with  coal-black  tattooings  across  his  shapeless  face,  ob- 
viously a  native  of  Africa.  This  savage  mercenary, 
very  likely  a  heathen  and  a  snake-worshipper,  watched 
the  flogging  with  a  series  of  chuckles  and  joyous  con- 
tortions, as  if  it  were  a  scene  from  a  farce. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?"  demanded  our 
American,  indignantly,  though  with  less  of  horror 
than  this  degenerate  age  would  imagine. 

"  I  bet  on  him,"  sniggered  the  Krooman,  wagging 
his  head  at  the  sufferer.  "  I  knowed  dat  ar  man 
could  n't  make  him  yelp,     I  'se  been  drummer  myself, 


50  A   Lover's  Revolt 

aboard  de  Bulldog.     Dar!  he  's  had  his  two  hundred. 
Now  for  number  four." 

Shocked  at  the  idea  of  this  sable  barbarian  catting 
men  of  white  blood  and  Christian  creed,  Farnlee  be- 
stowed a  hysterical  curse  upon  British  discipline,  and 
hurried  away  at  an  Indian  trot. 

At  the  foot  of  the  western  slope  of  Beacon  Hill  he 
halted  for  a  minute  to  recover  breath,  and  to  admire 
the  noble  dwelling  of  John  Hancock,  the  finest  private 
residence  in  Boston.  Now  came  dinner  at  the  Swan 
Tavern ;  then  a  long  conversation  with  some  Tory 
gentlemen,  who  had  plenty  of  opinions  to  offer,  but  no 
news  worth  considering;  then  another  extended  and 
fruitless  stroll  of  inspection  about  the  city. 

Early  after  supper  he  was  at  Warren's  house,  relat- 
ing his  adventures  and  observations,  and  blushing  over 
their  seeming  unimportance.  There  were  three  other 
visitors,  the  members  of  the  Boston  Committee  of 
Safety,  serious  and  anxious-eyed  men,  eager  to  hear 
every  word. 

What  do  you  say,  friends  ?  "  enquired  Warren. 

It  tallies  with  what  we  knew  before,"  answered  a 
small,  meagre  gentleman,  with  a  high-pitched  and 
positive  voice.  "  I  think  we  had  better  send  urgent 
warning  to  Lexington." 

Ash  had  not  an  idea  as  to  which  one  of  his  commu- 
nications had  been  judged  valuable;  but  he  was  proud 
of  himself  all  at  once,  and  he  wanted  to  be  winning 
more  glory. 

There  will  be  a  fight  ?"  he  asked  so  cheerfully 
that  Warren  smiled  and  the  committee  men  turned  to 
look  at  him. 

Mr.  Farnlee,   one  thing  more,"  said  the  Doctor. 


Watching  for  a  Sortie  51 

"  I  want  you  to  watch  the  barrack  in  King  Street  this 
evening.  If  you  see  any  troops  marching  thence — any 
considerable  body  of  troops — let  me  know  at  once." 

Ash  returned  to  the  tavern,  paid  his  bill,  took  his 
great  coat  on  his  arm,  and  repaired  to  his  post.  For 
nearly  three  hours  he  haunted  King  Street,  keeping 
watch  on  the  long,  low  mass  of  the  barrack,  and  trying 
to  make  out  the  dim  figures  which  entered  or  stole 
forth.  The  moon  rose,  and  he  became  more  cautious, 
lurking  behind  corners  and  in  shadows.  At  last,  be- 
tween nine  and  ten  o'clock,  there  was  a  hollow  murmur 
in  the  building,  the  trampling  of  many  feet  over  the 
wooden  floors.  Next,  before  Ash  could  fairly  believe 
his  senses,  a  stealthy  column  had  filed  out,  and  was  in 
march  toward  the  Common.  He  followed  it  with  a 
throbbing  heart ;  he  made  sure  that  it  was  heading  in 
the  direction  of  the  Common  ;  then  he  hastened  to  War- 
ren's house.  As  he  approached  it,  one  man  was  rush- 
ing into  it,  and  another  stumbling  out  of  it.  In  the 
front  hall  he  met  the  Doctor  and  hurriedly  told  his 
story. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  was  the  murmured  reply.  **  Now  get 
out  of  Boston  and  wake  them  up  at  Lexington.  Go 
by  way  of  Boston  Neck.  I  have  sent  Revere  by  way 
of  Charlestown.     One  of  you  ought  to  reach." 


CHAPTER  VI 

ON   THE   TRAIL   OF   REVERE 

ASH  knew  perfectly  well  that  to  reach  Lexington  by 
way  of  Boston  Neck  before  Revere  could  reach 
it  by  way  of  Charlestown  was  in  all  probability  impos- 
sible. But  he  undertook  the  task  with  that  headlong 
energy  which  fervid  inexperience  puts  into  an  enter- 
prise, no  matter  how  hopeless. 

He  hastened  to  the  tavern,  hired  a  saddle  horse,  and 
was  soon  galloping  across  the  flat  pastures  which  then 
enclosed  the  southern  end  of  the  city.  On  his  left 
stretched  the  moonlit  expanse  of  the  Bay,  broken  at 
one  point  by  the  dim  mass  of  Governor's  Island,  and 
closed  at  another  by  the  broad  rise  of  Dorchester 
Heights,  each  flecked  with  a  few  red  tremors  which 
were  lights  from  the  windows  of  peaceful  dwellings. 
But  Ash  noticed  nothing  beside  the  darkling  road  be- 
fore him,  and  the  trampling  and  the  hurried  breathing 
of  his  commonplace  steed. 

Presently  a  horseman  emerged  from  the  dimness 
ahead,  and  rushed  past  him  at  a  furious  gallop.  The 
moon  shone  on  his  polished  cavalry-boots,  and  on  the 
gold  lace  of  his  uniform.  Ash  thought  that  it  was 
Moorcastle ;  but  it  was  a  matter  of  course  that  he 
should  think  so ; — to  him  every  officer  was  Moorcastle 
until  he  discovered  the  contrary.     A  minute  later  he 

52 


On  the  Trail  of  Revere  53 

discerned  the  Barrier,  a  long  rampart  of  earthwork  and 
woodwork  which  ran  across  the  Neck,  and  ended  on 
either  hand  in  a  paHsade  reaching  far  out  in  the  shal- 
lows. Near  the  centre  loomed  two  clapboard  barracks  ; 
and,  between  them,  a  timber  gateway  spanned  the  road. 
The  gate  was  closed,  and  a  sentry  paced  in  front  of  it, 
the  moonlight  sparkling  on  his  bayonet. 

Halt!"  hailed  the  soldier,  smartly  halting  and 
fronting  with  a  resounding  slap  on  his  musket.  ' '  Who 
comes  there  ?  " 

"  A  friend,"  shouted  Ash,  checking  his  beast  and 
fumbling  for  his  pass  with  a  terrible  throb  of  fright 
lest  he  might  have  lost  it. 

"  Dismount,  friend;  advance  and  give  the  counter- 
sign," ordered  the  sentry,  bringing  his  bayonet  to  a 
charge. 

Ash  dismounted,  led  his  horse  slowly  forward,  and 
held  out  his  pass,  saying,  "  This  is  for  in  and  out." 

"  The  countersign,  I  tell  ye,"  repeated  the  sentry 
over  his  bayonet  point.  "  Corprill  of  the  garrd !  "  he 
yelled;  then  to  Farnlee,  "  Stan'  back  now,  will  ye  ?  " 

Out  came  the  corporal,  a  brown-faced  and  grave-eyed 
veteran,  with  an  ugly  red  scar  across  his  cheek.  He 
had  a  tin  lantern  in  his  hand,  and  by  its  flickering 
light  he  slowly  read  the  pass,  moving  his  lips  as  he 
spelled  his  way  downward.  "  It  's  no  good  to-night," 
he  said,  returning  the  paper.  "  No  one  passes  to- 
night without  the  countersign." 

"  What!  not  even  a  friend  of  the  king  ?  "  pleaded 
Ash,  with  a  smile  which  had  some  irony  in  it. 

"  Not  even  the  king  himself,"  returned  the  corporal. 

Ash  remounted,  and  set  off  at  a  walk  toward  Boston, 
but  presently  whipped  his  horse  into  a  gallop,  intend- 


54  A  Lover's  Revolt 

ing  to  get  over  to  Charlestown  by  the  ferry,  and  then 
push  for  Lexington  on  the  track  of  Revere. 

Reaching  the  ferry,  he  found  that  the  ferryboats  had 
disappeared,  but  he  discovered  a  canoe.  He  dis- 
mounted, gave  his  panting  beast  a  lash  to  start  him 
homeward,  hunted  up  a  slip  of  board  for  a  paddle,  and 
launched  his  dugout.  Five  minutes  later,  as  he  was 
working  his  way  across  the  river,  he  burst  into  a  laugh 
and  said  to  himself,  **  What  must  horses  think  of  us  ?  " 
He  had  not  been  so  gay  since  that  miserable  hour  at 
the  Oakbridges'  dinner  table ;  and  meanwhile,  under- 
neath his  bubbling  of  physical  elation,  there  was  a 
vaguely  felt  current  of  profound  anxiety. 

The  huge  black  Somerset  lay  two  hundred  yards, 
or  more,  below  his  course;  he  could  see  her  upper 
masts  against  the  sky,  and  the  red  lantern  above  her 
quarter-deck.  Then  he  glanced  up  the  stream  for 
signs  of  a  movement  of  troops.  Were  the  English  on 
the  Charlestown  peninsula,  or  were  they  still  on  the 
peninsula  of  Boston  ?  Of  course  he  could  not  know 
that  the  column  had  lost  time  by  waiting  for  the 
marines,  who  had  not  received  the  order  to  join  the 
expedition,  and  so  never  arrived. 

He  reached  Charlestown  without  accident,  moored 
his  canoe  to  a  wooden  wharf,  and  entered  the  village. 
Many  citizens  were  out  in  groups,  murmuring  gravely 
to  each  other,  and  staring  at  him  as  he  hurried  past. 
Eventually  a  man  called  to  him,  "  Say,  friend  !  are  the 
troops  starting  for  Concord  ?  " 

Who  says  they  are  ?  "  demanded  Ash,  for  he  stood 
in  need  of  positive  information,  and  moreover  he  had 
suddenly  become  fearful  of  arrest  at  the  hands  of  some 
Tory  detective. 


On  the  Trail  of  Revere  55 

"  Paul  Revere  said  so,"  replied  the  other.  "  Per- 
haps he  dreamt  it.  He  was  on  his  way  to  Lexington. 
Got  over  the  Neck  half  an  hour  ago,  unless  the  picket 
stopped  him." 

A  guard  at  Charlestown  Neck,  too !  Farnlee  turned 
the  next  corner,  hurried  down  to  the  waterside, 
jumped  into  his  dugout,  and  fell  to  paddling.  It  was 
only  about  half  a  mile  up  the  river  to  Cobble  Hill,  and 
from  there  he  could  reach  the  Lexington  road  without 
going  near  the  picket. 

He  paddled  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  before  he  got  far 
enough  past  the  head  of  Barton  Point  to  look  down 
the  placid,  shining  sweep  of  Back  Bay,  that  landlocked 
bit  of  sea  water  between  Boston  and  Cambridge.  Here 
for  the  first  time  he  learned  something  definite  as  to 
the  whereabouts  of  the  English  column  and  its  prob- 
able line  of  advance.  Hundreds  of  yards  to  his  left 
(how  far  he  could  not  even  guess,  in  that  light)  there 
was  a  low,  long,  black  object, — a  huge  sombre  serpent 
on  the  glitter  of  the  Bay, — crawling  out  from  the 
peninsula  toward  the  mainland.  It  was  undoubtedly 
a  fleet  of  boats,  laden  with  British  soldiers  who  had 
embarked  direct  from  their  parade-ground  on  the 
Common. 

Farnlee  now  paddled  onward  with  all  his  might. 
His  dugout,  though  not  a  large  one,  was  rather  heavy, 
and  he  made  slow  progress;  but  in  a  few  minutes  he 
was  behind  Lechmere's  Point  and  hidden  from  the 
sight  of  the  flotilla.  Where  it  would  land  he  could  not 
feel  sure,  though  he  guessed  that  it  would  be  at  Phipp's 
Farm,  which  turned  out  to  be  the  case.  He  himself 
leaped  ashore  just  below  Cobble  Hill,  remembering 
with   transitory  compunction  that  he  had  within  an 


56  A   Lover's  Revolt 

hour  turned  a  horse  loose  and  stolen  a  canoe,  but  con- 
soling himself  with  the  hope  that  he  would  erelong 
find  a  chance  to  pay  the  damages.  Five  minutes  later 
he  crossed  Plowed  Hill,  and  struck  into  the  road  from 
Charlestown  to  Lexington,  four  hundred  yards  beyond 
the  British  picket  on  the  Neck.  It  was  a  moment  of 
immense,  throbbing  exultation;  he  had  outgeneraled 
Gage  and  outmarched  his  redcoats. 

He  pushed  on  eagerly,  double-quicking  for  short  dis- 
tances, and  then  walking  to  recover  breath.  There 
was  no  danger  of  being  overtaken  by  the  English,  for 
they  would  have  to  wade  half  a  mile  of  swamp  before 
reaching  a  solid  road,  and  he  was  already  nearer  to 
Lexington  than  they.  But  of  course  he  wanted  to 
reach  and  rouse  his  fellow-citizens  as  early  as  possible 
before  the  advent  of  the  enemy ;  and  he  still  cherished 
a  faint  hope  of  overpassing  Revere  and  being  the  first 
to  warn  Hancock  and  Adams  of  their  peril.  That 
would  win  him  the  praise  of  Warren,  and,  what  was 
more,  it  would  please  his  father. 

Apparently  not  a  soul  beside  himself  was  abroad  in 
all  the  moonlit  landscape.  From  time  to  time  he 
passed  farmhouses,  some  near  the  road  and  others  far 
afield,  but  all  unlighted  and  silent.  There  was  not 
time  to  knock  up  these  people  and  inform  them  that 
the  British  were  coming.  Besides,  he  did  not  know 
any  of  them,  and  it  would  not  be  well  to  roust  out 
some  venomous  Tory,  who  might  produce  a  long 
ducking-gun  and  march  him  back  to  Charlestown.  So 
he  tramped  forward  steadily,  disregarding  the  dogs  that 
bayed  at  him,  and  only  halting  occasionally  for  a  glance 
rearward.  Over  and  over  he  wondered  whether  Revere 
had  got  by  the  Charlestown  picket,  and  whether  he 


On  the  Trail  of  Revere  57 

alone  were  bearing  the  tidings  of  the  redcoated  sortie. 
If  so,  there  was  need  that  he  should  make  greater 
speed  than  could  be  accomplished  on  foot. 

At  last  he  saw  a  light  in  a  house  not  far  from  the 
road,  and  he  decided  that  he  would  venture  to  apply 
for  a  horse.  His  knock  brought  to  the  door  a  young 
man  in  shirt-sleeves,  tall  and  raw-boned  and  tow- 
headed,  with  the  sunburnt  face  of  a  farmer. 

"  Howdy  ?  "  said  the  householder.  "  What  kin  I 
do  for  ye  ?  Walk  in."  The  story  of  the  English 
march,  and  its  purport,  was  hastily  told. 

**  Y'  don't  say!  "  the  farmer  kept  repeating,  in  a 
tone  of  gathering  excitement;  and  when  the  tale 
ended,  he  jerked  his  head  back  and  called,  "  Ole 
woman,  d'  ye  hear  that  ?  " 

A  muffled  figure  in  one  corner  of  the  huge  chimney 
gasped  out,  "  Can't  ye  harness  up  an'  do  suthin*, 
Abner  ?  " 

"  Wal,  if  t'  wa'n't  for  you — "  he  hesitated,  scratch- 
ing his  towsled  head.  Then  he  faced  the  visitor  and 
explained,  "  Wife  's  got  a  fit  of  asmy  and  can't  sleep." 

* '  You  better  go,  Abner, ' '  urged  the  woman.  '  *  You 
oughter  go.  Why,  it  would  be  an  awful  shame  not  to 
go.     You  'd  never  git  over  it." 

She  became  agitated  as  she  talked,  and  began  to 
cough  painfully.  "  I  sha'n't  die,"  she  added,  as  soon 
as  she  could  speak  again.  **  I  've  had  this  offen 
enough  to  know  what  it  'mounts  to." 

"  Wal,  you  keep  still,"  ordered  the  husband,  look- 
ing about  for  his  hat  and  his  lantern. 

"  If  you  could  let  me  a  horse  and  saddle  ?"  sug- 
gested Ash. 

"  Hain't  got  no  fitten  saddle,"  returned  Abner  as 


58  A  Lover's  Revolt 

he  straddled  off  to  his  barn,  his  towhead  a  yard  in 
front  of  his  big  feet. 

"  He  '11  take  ye,"  said  the  woman,  choking  down  a 
cough  with  a  coarse  blue  handkerchief.  "  He  would  n't 
miss  on  't  for  anythin'.     I  hope  you  '11  trounce  *em." 

"  I  hope  so,"  replied  Ash.  "  And  I  hope  you  will 
be  better  to-morrow.     Good  night." 

He  hurried  out  to  aid  the  husband  in  getting  up  his 
team.  Erelong  an  undersized  horse,  with  the  abdo- 
men, and  neck,  and  legs  of  a  sheep  (the  usual  steed  of 
rustic  New  England  in  colonial  days),  was  secured  by 
means  of  a  foxy  harness  to  a  venerable  chaise  which 
had  been  lightened  of  its  top.  Abner  re-entered  the 
house,  rolled  a  supplementary  log  upon  the  fire,  took 
down  his  long  ducking-gun  from  its  pegs,  and  uttered 
his  farewell. 

"  Keep  carm,  if  you  kin,  Keziah.  Keep  as  carm  as 
you  anyways  kin.  I  sha'n't  take  no  pertickler 
resk. 

Then  the  two  men  climbed  into  the  creaking  vehicle, 
and  under  the  stimulus  of  a  long  hickory  whip  Dobbin 
set  off  for  Lexington,  quite  unconscious  that  he  was 
aiding  to  inaugurate  a  Revolution. 

"  Nine  mile,"  sniffled  Abner,  meditatively.  "  Do 
it  in  an  hour  'n  a  haaf ;  see  'f  we  don't." 

Ash  now  called  to  mind  Paul  Revere,  and  asked  if 
any  one  had  passed  along  the  road  within  an  hour. 
But  Abner  could  not  say; — the  old  woman,  he  ex- 
plained, had  been  pretty  gaspy  for  a  while;  and  natu- 
rally he  had  failed  to  take  much  notice  of  the  outside 
world.  **  Besides,  this  is  a  lively  rise  jest  along  here," 
he  added;  "  and  folks  would  be  apt  to  walk  their 
horses,  if  they  knew  beans," 


On  the  Trail  of  Revere  59 

**  I  wish  we  were  at  Lexington,"  said  Farnlee, 
sighing  over  the  spectacle  of  Dobbin's  leisurely  gait. 

"  We  '11  git  there,  time  to  fight,  sure  's  my  name  's 
Abner  Sly.  Hey  up,  Dobbin!  boost  yerself,  will  ye  ? 
We  '11  git  there,  time  enough  to  ambush  'em.  That  's 
what  I  'm  thinkin'  on.  I  tell  you,  Capting,  I  think 
about  war  affairs  a  sight;  they  're  a  real  pleasure  to 
me.  Now  there,"  pointing  ahead  to  a  wooded  hollow, 
"  there  's  jest  the  sweetest  kind  of  a  spot  for  an  am- 
bush. I  'd  like  to  ketch  the  British  in  sech  a  hole  as 
that,  with  our  folks  behind  the  trees  all  around,  every 
man  with  his  duckin'-gun.    I  tell  you  it  would  be  fun." 

He  had  a  vast  deal  of  this  man-hunting  talk.  Of 
the  principles  which  interested  the  Farnlees,  of  the 
colonial  demands  for  political  rights  and  social  equal- 
ity, he  had  apparently  never  heard,  or  cared  nothing 
about  them.  He  was  a  type  of  the  American  who 
hailed  the  Revolution  with  joy  because  it  gave  him  a 
chance  to  exerdse  his  pugnacity  and  brag  of  his  valor. 

"  Ambushes  are  the  great  thing  in  war,"  he  repeated 
over  and  over.  "  I  tell  you  I  believe  our  redskins  are 
a  match  for  most  old-country  ginrals.  How  like 
darnation  they  did  whip  Braddock!  They  would  'a' 
tomahawked  and  skelped  his  hull  army  if  George 
Washington  had  n't  understood  bush  fightin'  jest  as 
well  as  they  did.  I  tell  you  we  must  follow  their 
policy,  and  lay  ambushes  all  the  while.  The  British 
don't  know  anything  about  that  kind  of  warfare. 
They  expect  to  draw  up  in  line,  and  fire  a  volley  with 
their  eyes  shet,  and  charge  with  their  bagonets. 
What  's  it  amount  to  ?  You  jest  lie  low,  take  steady 
aim,  and  pull  trigger;  and  down  go  grannydiers  and 
bagonets  in  a  pile,  with  the  ginral  on  top.     I  swear  it 


6o  A  Lover's  Revolt 

jest  makes  me  grin  to  think  on  't.  Sometimes  I  moon 
over  these  things  till  I  want  to  jump  up  and  give  a 
war-whoop." 

Ash  took  little  part  in  the  conversation,  for  he  felt 
his  fatigue  by  this  time,  and  the  rocking  of  the  chaise 
made  him  sleepy.  He  tried  to  be  interested  ;  he  tried 
to  keep  up  his  excitement  concerning  the  events  of  the 
night;  but  he  dozed  frequently,  and  left  the  talk  to 
his  comrade. 

**  Lordy !  lordy !  "  continued  Abner.  "  How  I  have 
longed  for  a  chance  at  'em !  or  at  e'enymost  anybody  1 
How  many  times  I  've  looked  and  looked  away  over 
to  Boston,  and  wished  the  lobsters  would  come  out ! 
But  I  tell  you  we  've  got  to  ambush  'em  and  play 
Injun.  I  wish  't'  King  Philip  was  alive  again,  and  on 
our  side.  I  've  heerd  my  granther  tell  no  eend  of 
stories  'bout  King  Philip,  though  I  guess  he  must  'a' 
lived  a  leetle  before  the  ole  man's  time.  By  George! 
how  them  redskins  useter  lay  traps  and  make  night 
attacks!  I  don't  hate  the  Injuns,  do  you  ?  It  ain't 
manly  to  hate  fellers  that  fit  as  hard  as  they  did." 

Ash  woke  up  here  and  mumbled, ' '  What  ?  Oh  yes ; 
the  Indians.  Yes,  they  fought  for  their  country,  and 
we  '11  fight  for  ours." 

"  That  's  so,"  chuckled  Abner.  "  And  we  '11  fight 
in  their  style  too.  It  's  the  same  country;  not  quite 
so  many  woods,  perhaps;  but  enough  for  ambushes. 
That  's  what  I  keep  a-thinkin'  of.  I  want  to  chuse 
my  tree,  and  take  a  keerful  aim,  an'  hit  a  redcoat. 
Darn  their  bagonets;  let  'em  come  on!  If  they  kin 
reach  me,  they  may  stick  me.  If  I  can't  hit  a  man 
that  's  a-makin'  for  me,  I  say  I  desarve  a  bagonet, 
don't  you  ?  " 


On  the  Trail  of   Revere  6i 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say,"  maundered  Ash,  Hf ting  his  head 
out  of  a  dream.  "  We  must  show  ourselves  as  good 
men  as  they.     We  must  put  down  their  insolence." 

To  Abner  these  remarks  seemed  to  have  no  special 
pertinence.  He  had  no  bitterness  in  his  soul,  and  no 
wrongs  to  avenge  that  he  knew  of.  He  simply  wanted 
adventures  and  combat,  providing  that  he  might  have 
them  in  woodland  fashion — a  good  covert  and  a  fair 
mark. 

Now  there,"  he  resumed,  waving  his  hickory  tow- 
ards a  ledge  of  shattered  rocks  which  lined  the  road- 
side for  some  distance,  **  there  's  another  elegant  spot 
for  an  ambush.  You  could  hide  more  'n  a  hundred 
Yankees  among  them  big  stuns,  and  no  British  ginral 
on  Godamighty's  yearth  would  think  of  it." 

Ninety  minutes  of  such  like  dozing  and  dialogue 
brought  the  travellers  to  the  straggling  village  of 
Lexington. 


CHAPTER  VII 

*' THE   EMBATTLED   FARMERS  " 

WHEN  Farnlee  and  Abner  Sly  trotted  into  Lex- 
ington they  found  it  in  a  turmoil  of  martial 
alarums.  A  raw  mist,  the  premonition  of  a  surly  April 
morning,  had  been  gathering  for  the  last  half  hour,  and 
by  this  time  sheeted  the  whole  landscape,  hiding  moon 
and  stars. 

But  flares  of  candle-light  came  from  many  windows, 
and  red  glimmers  of  lanterns  ran  about  in  various  direc- 
tions, sometimes  meeting  and  pausing  as  if  to  hold 
some  will-of-the-wisp  parliament,  and  then  dispersing 
swiftly  on  mysterious  errands.  Also,  there  were  loud 
bawlings  through  the  gray  obscurity,  all  referring  to 
the  summoning  of  men,  the  preparation  of  arms,  and 
other  preludes  to  combat. 

"  Great  Jehu!  "  chuckled  Abner.  "  Lexington  's 
as  cheerful  's  a  rattlesnake  hole.  Lordy!  how  a  chap 
would  like  to  take  a  pop  at  one  o'  them  lanterns, — 
callin'  it  a  redcoat!  " 

They  turned  in  at  the  wagon-gate  of  the  Farnlee 
homestead,  and  drove  up  to  the  barn. 

"  Guess  I  'd  better  stop  here,"  said  Abner.  "  If 
there  's  no  objection,  I  '11  take  Dobbin  out  of  the 
shay,  an'  clap  some  old  saddle  onto  him." 

In  the  kitchen  (where  there  was  a  fire  and  a  prepara- 

62 


"The  Embattled  Farmers"  63 

tion  of  breakfast)  Asahel  found  his  father  pacing  to  and 
fro  with  a  martial  step  which  his  limp  exaggerated. 
The  gaunt  old  man,  flushed  by  the  light  of  the  blazing 
logs,  and  dressed  in  a  venerable  blue  uniform  with  red 
facings,  looked  impressively  grim  and  warlike.  His 
long  white  hair  had  escaped  from  its  tie,  and  rolled  in 
wiry  waves  down  his  scrawny  neck.  His  deep-set  black 
eyes  seemed  to  emit  flame  from  under  his  beetling 
forehead.  Advancing  to  his  son,  he  took  both  his 
hands  and  pressed  them  hard,  hissing  through  his 
snaggly  teeth  a  laugh  of  exultation.  Never  before  in 
his  life  had  he  given  the  youth  such  a  cordial  greeting. 
Ash  trembled  under  the  emotion  which  was  roused  in 
him  by  this  unexpected  overflow  of  comradeship  and 
confidence.  It  was  by  far  the  greatest  compliment 
that  he  had  ever  received  from  man  or  woman. 

**  The  desired  day  has  come,"  said  the  Squire. 
"  This  morning  we  are  called  to  battle  openly  against 
unconstitutional  ordinance  and  despotic  aggression. 
We  shall  fight  for  English  law,  for  the  rights  of  Eng- 
lishmen here,  for  the  rights  of  Englishmen  every- 
where." 

"  Yes,  father,"  said  Ash.  Then  he  apologized  for 
being  late.  "  I  could  n't  get  here  sooner.  The 
guards  turned  me  back  at  the  Barrier,  and  I  had  to 
dodge  and  shift  my  way  out." 

"  It  matters  little.  Paul  Revere  and  William  Dawes 
have  been  here.  Hancock  and  Adams  will  take  refuge 
at  Woburn.  The  country  is  arming.  We  shall  be 
prepared  for  them." 

"  Are  you  in  any  command  here,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,  Asahel.  The  contest  has  come  too  late  to 
find  me  worthy  of  it.      I  lack  the  vigor  to  guide  men 


64  A   Lover's   Revolt 

in  battle.  I  shall  command  nothing  but  my  own  horse 
and  my  own  rifle.     Now  get  your  rifle  and  load  it." 

A  few  minutes  later  they  set  out  for  the  Green  to 
join  the  Minute  Men. 

Under  the  portico  they  found  Abner,  who  had  re- 
spectfully refrained  from  entering  the  great  man's 
dwelling,  and  had  passed  his  time  in  chattering  with 
two  or  three  farm  servants,  all  armed  and  uniformed 
at  their  master's  cost. 

"  This  is  Abner  Sly,  sir,  who  brought  me  along," 
explained  Ash. 

"  What  is  to  pay,  Abner  ?  "  enquired  the  Squire. 

"  The  devil  's  to  pay  if  I  take  a  penny,  sir,"  declared 
Abner.  '*  I  'm  as  ferce  for  this  war,  Square,  as  you 
be,  savin'  your  presence." 

"  Have  you  been  enrolled,  Abner  ?  " 

**  Not  a  mite.  There  ain't  no  Minute  Men  down 
our  way;  it  's  too  nigh  the  lines.  But  this  old  shoot- 
in'  iron  has  come  nine  mile  to  fight,  and  I  don't  want 
to  disappint  it." 

*'  You  must  be  enrolled,"  said  the  Squire.  "  Cato 
would  not  permit  his  son  to  fight  without  taking  the 
military  oath.  We  New  England  men  are  champions 
of  the  British  Constitution,  and  we  must  not  defend 
law  by  lawlessness.  Are  you  willing  to  be  sworn  into 
the  Lexington  Minute  Men  ?  " 

''  I  be  I  ''  emphatically  responded  Abner,  blushing 
with  joy  and  pride. 

One  of  the  Farnlee  bibles  was  produced,  and  the  new 
recruit  took  the  military  oath  to  the  colony  of  Massa- 
chusetts, and  received  a  certificate  of  membership  as 
private  of  the  Lexington  company  of  militia.  Then 
the  squad  marched  to  the  village  green,  Abner  closing 


''  The  Embattled  Farmers  "  65 

the  rear  with  his  six-foot  ducking-gun  and  a  four-inch  - 
grin  of  satisfaction. 

Around  the  barnhke  meeting-house,  and  its  isolated 
pepper-caster  of  a  belfry,  there  were  nearly  a  hundred 
militiamen,  while  many  others  had  evidently  gathered 
in  Buckman's  Tavern,  the  windows  of  which  twinkled 
with  glimpses  of  candle-light.  On  all  sides  belated 
warriors  were  running  in,  holding  down  their  cartridge- 
boxes  or  powder-horns  with  the  left  hand,  and  balan- 
cing their  firelocks  over  the  right  shoulder.  The 
majority  of  these  men  were  in  uniform,  for  the  Lex- 
ington company  was  an  exceptionally  well  accoutred 
one,  largely  owing  to  the  influence  of  Squire  Farnlee 
and  other  old  soldiers.  But  this  uniform  consisted 
simply  of  a  dark  blue  coat,  the  long  and  broad  skirts 
turned  up  with  red.  For  the  rest  the  men  wore  their 
ordinary  cocked  hats,  knee-breeches,  yarn  stockings, 
and  buckled  shoes.  There  were  a  few  muskets  and 
bayonets,  two  or  three  long  and  heavy  rifles,  and  many 
still  longer  ducking-guns. 

A  knot  of  boys  had  gathered  around  a  hollowed 
pumpkin  with  a  candle  in  it,  and  were  trying  to  warm 
their  red  hands  at  the  flickering  blaze,  and  exchanging 
childish  jokes  and  giggles.  Now  and  then  a  pale-faced 
woman  flitted  by,  searching  with  scared  eyes  for  a 
husband  or  a  son.  Brief  murmurs  of  conversation 
arose  and  occasional  shouts  for  some  absentee.  Every 
panting  new  arrival  was  pretty  sure  to  be  saluted  with 
the  words,  "  They  are  coming."  Sometimes  he  did 
not  reply;  sometimes  he  asked,  "  How  far  off  ?  " 

There  were  many  such  comments  as  these:  "We 
ought  to  be  getting  ready — Why  don't  the  Captain  do 
something  ? — Why  don't  the  drum  beat  ?  " 


66  A  Lover's  Revolt 

Some  of  the  grumbling  voices  were  impatient ;  others 
were  distinctly  tremulous  and  timorous.  But  the  firsts 
as  well  as  the  last,  had  a  tone  which  confessed  anxiety. 

One  group,  drawn  somewhat  apart,  was  holding  an 
impromptu  religious  service:  a  tall  old  farmer,  with 
spectral  eyes,  beseeching  the  aid  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts; 
the  others  listening  with  bare  and  bowed  heads.  At 
a  little  distance  a  gaunt,  thin-faced,  Roman-nosed 
youngster,  a  striking  specimen  of  the  village  tough  of 
revolutionary  New  England,  skirled  defiances  and 
threats  which  had  a  powerful  odor  of  rum.  "  Let  'em 
come  !  Dammit,  let  'em  hurry!  Dammit,  we  're 
a-waitin'.  Goshamighty,  I  'm  hungry  for  a  shoot. 
Let  the  grannies  fetch  out  the  cider.  Dammit,  we  '11 
fight  it  out  right  here." 

Abner  Sly  sniggered,  but  the  Squire  called  sternly : 

No  blasphemies,  Silas  Bill!  This  assemblage  is  here 
to  defend  law.     Be  decent  and  quiet." 

Then  he  sought  out  Captain  Parker,  and  presented 
Abner  as  a  recruit.  Parker  was  a  stalwart  man  of 
forty  with  a  noticeably  martial  aquiline  face.  But  he 
looked  anxious,  and  no  great  wonder;  for  in  case  of  a 
collision  he  ran  more  than  a  risk  of  being  shot  and 
bayoneted ;  he  stood  an  unpleasantly  strong  chance  of 
hanging. 

I  should  like  to  be  in  your  place,"  said  the  Squire. 

I  have  refused  all  command  simply  because  I  am  too 
old  and  feeble  to  do  an  officer's  whole  duty.  But  I 
will  share  your  responsibility.  As  a  justice  of  the 
peace,  I  advise  and  direct  that,  if  you  are  fired  upon  by 
the  king's  troops,  you  may  and  should,  in  defence  of 
the  laws,  return  the  fire.  Only  see  to  it.  Captain,  and 
you  also,  fellow  citizens  here  present,  see  to  it  that  you 


"The  Embattled  Farmers"  67 

do  not  fire  first.  That  was  the  parting  injunction  of 
our  friends,  Samuel  Adams  and  John  Hancock;  and 
that  is  my  injunction  and  order,  as  an  ofhcer  of  the 
lav/.  Let  the  English  fire  first,  if  they  dare ;  but  then 
do  you  each  and  all  fire  in  return ;  and  so  God  help 
you  ! 

The  old  gentleman  rose  on  his  toes,  and  then  came 
down  solidly  on  his  heels,  as  if  he  were  addressing  a 
jury. 

And  now.  Captain,  I  desire  a  favor,"  he  resumed. 

In  consideration  of  my  age  and  my  lameness,  I  ask 
leave  to  serve  on  horseback.  I  can  act  as  your  orderly, 
and  I  can  also  do  scouting  service." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  approval,  and  Parker  gave 
his  assent  with  a  modest  blush,  evidently  a  little 
abashed  at  commanding  a  veteran  officer  of  the  old 
French  war.  But  presently  he  rallied  his  self-confi- 
dence, and  turning  to  a  rosy-cheeked  youngster  at  his 
elbow,  he  said,  "  Ebenezer,  beat  the  long  roll.". 

The  martial  insistence  of  the  snare-drum  crashed 
and  exulted  through  the  misty  air.  Hasting  forms, 
summoned  out  of  obscurity  by  the  long-drawn  clatter, 
drifted  in  from  all  sides.  The  four  or  five  women  on 
the  Green  uttered  brief,  sharp  cries,  and  fluttered  out 
of  sight.  The  boys  were  promptly  dispersed,  and 
their  grotesque  fire-monster  died  a  violent  death  under 
the  Squire's  foot,  its  illuminated  grin  vanishing  sud- 
denly like  the  spirit  of  trampled  loyalism.  A  swarm 
of  men  surged  into  a  mass,  and  then  slowly  spread  out 
into  a  long  line.  The  Alarm  List  of  Lexington  had 
formed  company  front. 

Ash  Farnlee,  as  one  of  the  tallest  of  the  array,  placed 
himself  on  the  right,  near  to  the  first  sergeant.     Abner 


68  A  Lover's  Revolt 

Sly,  his  fathom-long  gun  slanting  over  his  shoulder, 
seized  upon  a  post  beside  him,  and  was  promptly 
hustled  into  the  rear  rank  with  the  explanation,  "  Bag- 
onets  in  front."  The  Squire  limped  down  to  the 
extreme  left,  and  took  position  as  a  supernumerary. 

It  was  an  array  which  showed  more  patriotic  zeal 
than  military  effectiveness.  The  company  had  gath- 
ered in  nearly  the  whole  full-grown  or  half-grown 
male  population  of  the  township.  The  figures  in  the 
ranks  were  of  all  ages,  and  arranged  of  course  without 
regard  to  seniority  of  years,  lathy  youngsters  contrast- 
ing with  stalwart  farmers  and  white-haired  grandsires. 
One  hundred  and  thirty  voices,  varying  from  boyish 
soprano  to  ox-compelling  bass,  answered  to  the  names 
which  the  sergeant  stammeringly  read  from  the  muster- 
roll.  At  the  close,  Squire  Farnlee's  recruit,  who  had 
not  yet  been  added  to  the  list,  bawled  forth,  **  Abner 
Sly!~here!" 

There  was  a  titter  at  that  end  of  the  line,  followed 
suddenly  by  an  intense  silence,  like  the  hush  of  boys 
who  have  laughed  in  church.  Then  the  Captain 
"  hemmed  "  loudly,  and  shouted  in  a  prolonged,  high- 
pitched  cry,  **  'Ten-shun!  "  After  another  "  ahem  " 
he  continued:  "  Fellovz-citizens,  the  king's  troops  are 
marching  upon  Lexington.  But  it  will  be  quite  a  spell 
before  they  get  here.  It  is  a  raw,  damp  morning. 
We  will  break  ranks  for  the  present,  and  keep  com- 
fortable till  we  are  needed.  The  picket  below  the 
town  will  warn  us  of  their  approach  by  firing  a  volley, 
and  then  the  tithing-man  will  ring  the  bell  and  the 
long  roll  will  beat,  whereupon  we  will  assemble  and  do 
our  duty.  I  want  you  all  to  stay  within  easy  distance 
of  the  Green.     Such  as  can  crowd  into  my  house  are 


''The  Embattled  Farmers"  69 

welcome.      But,  before  we  break  ranks,  we  '11  load  with 
ball." 

Here  he   hemmed    once   more,   and,   resuming  his 
I     drawling  cry  of  command,  shouted,  "  Load  at  will — 
load!" 

There  was  a  bustle  in  the  ranks,  a  clicking  and  thud 
of  ramrods  in  the  barrels,  and  a  return  to  the  position 
of  attention. 

"  Now  then,"  resumed  the  Captain,  "  I  want  you 
all  to  remember  the  law,  as  we  've  heard  it  from  Squire 
Farnlee.  No  firing  till  the  British  have  fired;  then 
defend  yourselves  and  your  cause. — Shoul-der  hoo! 
Right  face.      Break  ranks,  march." 

There  was  a  prompt  dispersion,  the  villagers  mostly 
retiring  to  their  dwellings,  and  the  farmers  to  Buck- 
man's  Tavern.  When  the  Farnlees  reached  their 
home,  the  tall  wooden  clock  in  the  kitchen— a  white- 
faced  sentinel  in  his  coffin-like  sentry-box— marked 
half-past  two  in  the  morning.  Two  hours  passed  in 
quiet,  during  which  Ash  tried  to  sleep  in  his  room, 
and  Abner  Sly  snored  in  the  barn.  The  Squire 
drowsed  in  an  easy  chair  by  the  kitchen  fire,  and  on 
awaking  devoured  a  bowl  of  hasty  pudding  and  milk. 

"  Men  must  feed  if  they  mean  to  fight,"  he  said  to 
his  old  black  cook,  who  showed  all  her  yellow  ivories 
and  composedly  sniggered,  "  Sart'n,  Mas'r  Cap'm." 

When  his  son  came  down,  he  sent  him  to  the  barn 
to  have  the  three  horses  saddled.  ' '  We  may  be  driven 
at  first,"  he  said.  "  Of  course  if  the  company  retires 
in  good  order,  we  will  stand  by  it.  But  if  it  disperses, 
we  will  hasten  home  and  mount.  We  will  fight  as 
Parthians;  we  will  shoot  flying.  Understand  that  I 
shall  take  Old  Silver.     You  will  take  Redskin.     Sly 


^o  A   Lover's  Revolt 

must  do  the  best  he  can  with  his  own.  And  you, 
Venus,"  he  added  to  the  cook,  "  stuff  the  saddle-bags 
with  provender.     We  may  have  to  fight  a  week." 

He  smiled  grimly;  then  he  dropped  his  silvery  head 
against  the  high  back  of  his  chair;  and  erelong  he  was 
fast  asleep  with  his  mouth  open,  snoring  loudly. 

A  few  minutes  later  Ash  ran  into  the  house,  calling, 
"  Father!  the  picket  has  fired." 

"  Ha  ? — oh — yes,"  gurgled  the  old  man,  clutching 
the  arms  of  his  chair  as  if  to  lift  himself  out  of  slum- 
ber. He  smacked  his  dry  lips  two  or  three  times  to 
moisten  them,  and  added  tranquilly,  "I  see  that  I 
shall  have  to  ride." 

They  had  scarcely  got  him  mounted  when  the  long 
roll  opened  its  clattering  alarum,  and  the  church  bell 
sent  forth  an  eager,  stammering  jangle.  It  was  now 
half-past  four,  but  the  morning  was  still  so  sombre  that 
it  was  impossible  to  see  distinctly  the  scores  of  men 
who  were  running  or  loitering  toward  the  Green.  The 
company  formed  with  the  usual  slowness  of  undis- 
ciplined and  imperfectly  drilled  soldiers.  It  was  a 
sadly  diminished  array;  less  than  a  hundred  were 
present.  This  desertion,  and  the  consciousness  of  a 
stern  crisis  near  at  hand,  cast  a  gloom  over  the  face  of 
many  a  brave  patriot. 

"  That  's  always  the  way  with  militia,"  grumbled  an 
old  soldier  of  the  French  war.  "  A  great  many  men 
like  to  do  their  fighting  in  the  chimney-corner.  It 
takes  the  Articles  of  War  to  bring  everybody  into  line. 

"Who  cares?"  said  Jonas  Parker,  the  strongest 
man  and  best  wrestler  of  Lexington.  "  A  man  can 
fight  alone.  The  British  will  never  make  me  run. 
I  've  said  it  before,  and  I  say  it  now." 


"The  Embattled  Farmers"  71 

**  Shucks!  "  was  the  disgusted  commentary  of  Abner 
Sly.  "  This  ain't  no  decent  ambush — behind  a  meet- 
in' -house.     We  oughter  be  behind  them  stun  walls." 

Captain  Parker  came  up  to  the  Squire,  who  had 
taken  post  in  rear  of  the  line,  and  murmured,  "  This 
is  no  fighting  position.     Shall  we  stay  here  ?  " 

In  the  name  of  the  law — yes!  "  returned  the  old 
man.  "If  those  intruders  order  us  awav,  we  will 
not  stir.  If  they  fire,  we  will  fire.  If  they  begin  it, 
we  will  end  it.  With  your  leave  I  will  say  a  word  to 
your  men." 

He  touched  Old  Silver  with  his  heel,  and  rode  slowly 
from  left  to  right  along  the  rear  of  the  company, 
shouting  over  and  over  in  a  loud,  firm  voice,  "  Com- 
rades, when  the  British  aim,  stoop  low.  The  shots 
will  mainly  pass  over.  Then  rise,  aim  at  the  waist- 
bands, and  fire." 

"  How  will  you  get  Old  Silver  to  scrooch,  Square  ?  " 
asked  Robert  Monroe,  the  veteran  of  the  Seven  Years 
War. 

"  Old  Silver  and  what  sits  astride  of  him  will  take  it 
as  it  comes,"  returned  the  Squire. 

There  was  a  fairly  cheerful  horse-laugh  in  the  ranks. 
The  old  man  rode  back  to  Parker  and  growled  exult- 
antly, "  I  think  that  did  them  good." 

The  Captain  looked  up  at  the  grim  ancient  with  a 
feehng  akin  to  reverential  horror.  It  seemed  to  him 
in  that  moment  that  they  were  all  held  there  in  the 
jaws  of  death  by  Squire  Farnlee.  Both  he  and  the 
majority  of  his  soldiers  would  have  been  glad  to  evade 
the  collision  which  was  trampling  toward  them,  or  at 
least  to  face  it  from  behind  some  covert  which  would 
give  them  a  slight  chance  of  safety,  if  not  of  victor^^ 


72  A  Lover's  Revolt 

Yet  they  were  braver  than  the  average  man.  They 
were  braver  than  the  average  of  the  long-service  veter- 
ans who  were  advancing  upon  them  with  a  perfect 
certainty  of  dispersing  them  as  easily  as  a  mastiff  dis- 
perses a  brood  of  kittens.  They  were  poorly  armed, 
miserably  drilled  and  disciplined,  unused  to  warfare, 
and  few  in  number.  Not  one  of  them  knew  but  that 
all  his  inexperienced  comrades  might  desert  him  at  the 
first  shot.  If  they  fought,  it  would  be  without  hope 
of  triumph,  not  even  the  faintest.  Their  fight  must 
be  to  receive  a  volley;  some  of  them  falling  dead,  of 
course;  the  rest  dispersing,  of  course.  So  the  struggle 
for  American  liberty  must  commence.  It  was  not 
battle ;  it  was  martyrdom.  And  they  stood  up  to  the 
stake  without  being  chained  to  it. 

No  wonder  they  looked  about  them  with  grave  faces 
and  troubled  eyes.  Many  of  them  gazed  upon  their 
own  dwellings,  querying  whether  they  would  ever 
re-enter  them  alive,  or  whether  they  would  be  borne 
into  them  bloody  corpses.  Others  looked  fixedly  at 
the  church,  calling  to  mind  the  sermons  they  had  heard 
in  it,  the  prayers,  and  hymns,  and  sacramental  invita- 
tions. Others  strove  with  nervous  energy  to  forget 
the  situation,  and  to  think  of  nothing  but  trifles. 
Robert  Monroe,  the  time-worn  soldier,  kept  repeating 
to  himself,  "  I  have  been  through  it  before,  and  I  shall 
go  through  it  again." 

In  the  distance  were  anxious  groups — mothers,  wives, 
young  children,  decrepid  grandsires — peering  through 
the  gray  air  for  husband,  father,  or  son — waiting  to  see 
if  he  would  live  or  die. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"THE  SHOT  HEARD  ROUND  THE  WORLD" 

ASH  FARNLEE  was  as  serious  as  were  his  com- 
rades. To  his  surprise  (and  it  frightened  him 
with  the  idea  that  he  might  be  a  coward),  his  feelings 
inclined  to  tenderness,  and  not  to  violence.  He  had 
lost  his  vindictiveness;  he  did  not  desire  to  hurt  any 
Englishman,  however  arrogant  toward  Americans ;  he 
even  thought  of  Moorcastle  and  Huldah  without  anger. 
He  was,  as  it  were,  on  his  deathbed,  and  must  forget 
the  little  bitternesses  of  earth,  and  be  forgiving  to  his 
fellow-creatures. 

But  he  was  stubbornly  resolved  to  remain  at  his  post 
of  danger  and  duty.  No  dread  of  death  or  laceration 
should  drive  him  to  desert  his  comrades  and  dishonor 
his  name.  Flight  was  indeed  morally  impossible  while 
his  father  was  near  at  hand ;  he  would  have  been  torn 
to  pieces  by  bayonets  sooner  than  show  himself  a 
craven  to  his  father. 

Meanwhile  (fearful  lest  there  might  be  some  pol- 
troonery in  his  heart)  he  was  constantly  repeating  to 
himself  what  he  must  do  and  be.  "I  must  be  the 
very  last  to  retreat ;  I  must  show  myself  the  best  man 
here."  Once  he  thought  out,  without  opening  his 
lips,  a  few  words  of  prayer  :  "  Our  Father,  spare  my 
life,   if  it  be  consistent  with  Thy  purposes;    if  not, 

73 


74  A  Lovers  Revolt 

strengthen  me  to  do  my  duty  to  my  last  breath ;  spare 
me  or  strengthen  me." 

Of  a  sudden  everybody  heard  the  monotonous  thrum 
of  the  English  drums,  mingled  with  the  piercing 
gayety  of  the  fifes.  It  seemed  incredible  that  they 
should  be  so  near,  and  that  possible  battle  should  be 
really  at  hand.  But  now  came  the  head  of  the  column  : 
first,  a  single  mounted  ofificer  gliding  from  behind 
Beekman's  Tavern;  then  a  squad  of  drummers  and 
fifers,  storming  out  their  inspiriting  music ;  then  file 
on  file  of  scarlet  soldiers,  their  black  gaiters  swinging  in 
unison  and  their  muskets  at  the  carry.  This  was  the 
detachment  of  six  light-infantry  companies  which  had 
been  assigned  to  Major  Pitcairn  with  orders  to  make  a 
forced  march  upon  Concord  and  seize  the  bridges. 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Smith  with  the  grenadiers  was  a 
mile  or  two  in  rear. 

Pitcairn  already  knew  of  the  gathering  of  the  Lex- 
ington militia,  and  had  decided  what  action  to  take  in 
regard  to  it.  His  judgment  and  purposes  were  as 
purely  military  as  if  he  had  been  a  Frenchman,  or  a 
Russian,  instead  of  an  Englishman.  He  did  not  do 
what  he  undoubtedly  would  have  done  in  his  own 
country;  he  did  not  call  for  a  local  magistrate  and 
demand  a  dispersion  in  the  name  of  the  law.  These 
people  were  merely  colonists:  they  must  go  if  an 
English  officer  told  them  to;  or  they  must  be  fired 
upon.  He  made  just  such  a  tactical  movement  as  he 
would  have  made  in  the  presence  of  declared  traitors 
or  alien  foes.  Here  was  a  threatening  force;  no  good 
officer  would  leave  such  a  force  in  his  rear;  he  must 
disperse  it  before  he  resumed  his  march  upon  Concord. 

His  orders  rang  out  in  the  hard,  piercing  tone  of  an 


**The  Shot  Heard  round  the  World"      75 

old  soldier.  The  three  leading  companies  successively 
ran  forward  into  Hne  so  as  to  face  the  miUtia,  while 
the  three  rear  companies  marched  on  some  eighty 
yards,  and  there  halted  and  fronted.  The  two  lines, 
one  on  the  Green  and  one  in  reserve  on  the  road,  were 
in  position  almost  at  the  same  moment. 

Apparently  the  Americans  did  not  understand  the 
manoeuvre  of  double-quicking  from  column  of  march 
into  line  of  battle.  They  thought,  and  afterwards  re- 
ported, that  the  English  undertook  to  charge  them, 
but  fell  into  disorder  and  were  halted  by  their  officers. 
They  were  startled,  no  doubt ;  but  not  a  man  of  them 
moved.  They  were  determined  to  remain  in  their 
ranks  and  see  whether  the  English  would  dare  disperse 
them  by  force. 

Pitcairn  now  rode  forward,  followed  by  two  other 
mounted  officers,  an  adjutant  and  an  aid.  He  was 
still  fifty  or  sixty  yards  from  the  militia  when  he  called 
in  a  harsh,  authoritative  tone,  the  tone  of  a  soldier 
who  has  no  time  to  waste,  "  Disperse!  ground  your 
arms!  disperse!  " 

He  was  not  armed  for  combat.  He  had  in  his  hand 
merely  a  light  cane,  such  as  officers  in  those  days 
usually  carried.  Nor  did  his  voice  seem  to  express 
anger;  it  was  simply  impatient  and  positive,  with  per- 
haps a  slight  undertone  of  anxiety;  it  was  like  the 
voice  of  a  man  who  cries,  "  Stand  out  of  the  way! 
why  do  you  want  to  get  hurt  ?  "  But  as  a  soldier,  as 
a  straightforward  Englishman,  as  a  native  of  the 
motherland  addressing  colonists,  he  could  use  only 
imperative  and  irritating  words. 

A  collision  was  now  inevitable.  The  men  to  whom 
he  thus  spoke  were  of  the  same  blood  with  himself, 


76  A  Lovers  Revolt 

and  were  equally  sure  that  law  and  right  were  at  their 
back.  No  doubt  every  heart  in  that  Hne  of  yeomen 
beat  with  anxiety,  if  not  with  distinct,  pungent  dread 
of  death.  But  they  called  up  all  their  self-respect ; 
they  remembered  their  privileges  and  customs  as  child- 
ren of  a  free  race ;  and  they  waited  stubbornly  for  the 
volley  which  should  put  their  king  in  the  wrong. 

Pitcairn  hesitated.  He  had  not  the  least  suspicion 
that  he  was  on  the  verge  of  a  struggle  which  would 
disrupt  the  British  empire  and  introduce  a  giant  re- 
public among  startled  kingdoms.  He  divined  as  little 
what  he  was  about  to  do  as  does  an  infant  who  drops 
a  lighted  match  into  a  barrel  of  powder,  merely  be- 
cause the  match  burns  its  fingers.      He  did  not  suspect 

/^         that  he  was  helpless;  that  he  was  but  the  tool  of  a 

^~)  situation  which  had  become  destiny ;  that,  whatever 
he  did,  he  was  to  bring  about  the  American  Revolu- 
tion. He  hesitated  simply  because  he  was  a  kindly 
man,  no  longer  young  and  eager  for  adventure,  averse 
to  violent  measures,  averse  to  bloodshed. 

But  in  a  moment  his  perplexity  vanished  before  a 
sense  of  military  duty.  He  thought  of  his  delayed 
march  and  of  the  unseized  bridges.  An  angry  scowl 
wrinkled  his  baldish  forehead,  and,  throwing  himself 

^<-;fc^^j^^  forward  in  his  saddle,  he  yelled,  "  Disperse,  you  rebels ! 
You  villains,  why  don't  you  disperse  ?  " 

Then  turning  to   his   foremost  companies,   by  this 

^  time  aligned  and  steady,  he  ordered,  "  Forward,  the 

flank  platoons!     Surround  those  fellows!  " 

(  The  aid  and  adjutant  wheeled  away  to  superintend 

the  movement,  while  Pitcairn  rode  to  one  flank  to  leave 

^  a  clear  field  for  the  advance.     The  two  outer  platoons, 

dropping  their  muskets  to  a  trail,  came  on  briskly. 


V      Vi  ^    -^ 


"The  Shot  Heard  round  the  World"      ^^ 

The  Americans,  as  a  body,  stood  firm.  Here  and 
there  a  man  recoiled  a  step  or  two,  but  meantime 
others  ran  in  to  join  the  company.  Just  at  this  mo- 
ment two  or  three  of  the  English  fired,  and  it  must 
have  been  by  accident  or  in  nerv^ous  agitation,  for  no 
American  was  hit.  But  there  was  an  instantaneous 
response  from  a  cool  marksman.  A  single  red  gleam 
shot  out  from  a  stone  wall  on  the  right,  and  Pitcairn's 
horse  plunged  forward  with  a  bloody  scratch  across 
the  quarter. 

Then  came  the  inevitable  :  the  first  volley  of  English 
absolutism  at  provincial  liberty:  a  hasty,  intermitting 
volley,  which  seemed  to  repent  even  in  its  angry  out- 
burst: a  sputter  of  single  shots,  then  a  platoon  crash, 
then  silence,  then  crash  after  crash  until  every  musket 
had  spit  flame :  then  the  groans  and  astonished  shrieks 
of  the  first  martyrs  of  the  Revolution.  There  were 
cries  of  **  Fire,"  and  cries  of  **  Cease  firing,"  uttered 
by  no  one  knows  whom.  Pitcairn,  whirling  around  on 
his  affrighted  steed,  gestured  wildly  with  his  cane, 
striking  it  downward  as  if  to  emphasize  some  order. 
But  if  he  spoke,  no  one  heard  him,  or  no  one  distin- 
guished what  he  said. 

The  volley  (if  one  may  call  it  a  volley)  was  strangely 
ineffective.  The  soldiers  had  fired  while  advancing, 
and  probably  with  little  desire  to  kill.  Of  about  a 
hundred  Americans  there  present,  only  one  fell  dead 
on  the  company  line,  and  two  wounded.  Jonas  Parker, 
the  veteran  Monroe,  and  a  very  few  others  returned  the 
fire  without  recoiling.  The  rest  dispersed  at  once ;  two 
or  three  facing  about,  after  a  few  steps,  and  firing ;  others 
running  to  a  neighboring  wall  and  firing  from  there. 

Meantime  the  English  officers  were  struggling  to  halt 


78  A  Lover's  Revolt 

their  men  and  reform  the  disordered  ranks.  But  in 
spite  of  their  shouts  there  was  a  wild  surging  forward, 
a  springing  forth  of  individual  soldiers,  and  a  fitful 
resumption  of  the  musketry.  Jonas  Parker,  the  Lex- 
ington Hercules,  who  had  kept  his  promise  not  to  run 
from  the  British,  fell  at  this  moment.  A  shot  brought 
him  to  his  knees,  and,  as  he  was  reloading  in  that 
position,  a  wild  thrusting  of  bayonets  finished  him. 
A  few  steps  away,  pierced  also  by  both  ball  and  bayo- 
net, lay  the  old  soldier,  Monroe. 

We  must  go  back  a  minute  in  order  to  study  the  ex- 
perience of  Ash  Farnlee.  When  the  English  rushed 
into  the  Green  his  first  thought  was  for  himself,  and 
he  had  a  humiliating  consciousness  of  hoping,  "  Surely 
they  won't  kill  me.''  Then  he  heard  a  voice  behind 
him  exclaim  in  a  tone  of  intense  disgust,  "  Oh — 
shucks  ! 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder,  and  saw  Abner  Sly 
fleeing  with  amazing  speed  toward  the  right,  apparently 
to  gain  the  cover  of  a  stone  wall  which  lay  in  that  di- 
rection. The  spectacle  so  infuriated  Ash  that  he  would 
have  been  glad  to  crack  the  fugitive's  skull  with  his 
rifle  butt.  All  his  courage  and  combativeness  came 
back  to  him,  and  he  turned  to  face  the  advancing 
soldiers  with  angry  eyes. 

He  supposed  that  there  would  be  a  stubborn  and 
bloody  conflict,  and  he  prepared  for  it  by  selecting  a 
victim.  Back  in  the  road,  stationed  in  front  of  the 
redcoated  reserve,  was  a  mounted  officer  who  seemed 
to  him  to  resemble  Moorcastle.  He  decided  that  this 
officer,  and  not  those  men  whose  faces  were  so  distress- 
ingly near  him,  should  be  his  mark.  Then  came  a 
medley  of  ideas  or  perceptions :  the  English  had  halted 


*'  The  Shot  Heard  round  the  World  "      79 

and  were  re-forming ;  they  were  between  him  and  the 
meeting-house;  the  American  bullets  would  break  the 
windows ;  that  commanding  officer  had  a  queer,  strained 
voice ;  what  was  it  he  said  about  villains  ?  and  why  did 
he  canter  off  to  the  right  ? 

Ash  glanced  that  way,  and  beyond  Pitcairn  he  saw 
Abner  Sly  peering  over  the  stone  wall,  looking  so  eager 
and  anxious  that  he  was  almost  comical.  Was  the 
fellow  going  to  shoot  before  the  king's  troops  did  ? 
But  the  redcoats  were  advancing ;  they  were  firing  also, 
— one,  two,  three  shots;  nobody  hit.  He  was  still 
staring  at  Abner  Sly,  and  he  saw  the  blaze  of  that 
hero's  ducking-gun,  while  at  the  same  moment  he  saw 
Pitcairn's  horse  plunge  forward. 

Then  came  the  volley  :  clatter  crashing  after  clatter; 
a  deafening,  shaking,  abominable  uproar  :  strange 
whistlings,  too,  over  his  head :  a  cry  of  pain  at  his 
side.  The  next  instant,  totally  forgetting  the  officer 
who  resembled  Moorcastle,  he  had  fired  at  a  tall  soldier 
whom  he  never  saw  before  and  never  saw  afterward. 
Then,  without  noticing  whether  the  man  fell  or  not, 
he  was  hastily  reloading  his  rifle. 

Yet  his  eyes  were  open  to  everything  around  him. 
Pictures  were  painted  on  his  memory,  never  to  be 
effaced.  He  noted  particularly  the  leaders  of  the 
svvarm  which  surged  forward  to  finish  the  wounded. 
The  first  to  reach  a  victim  was  a  lean,  swarthy,  pallid 
young  fellow,  his  black  eyes  glaring  and  his  ghastly 
cheeks  twitching,  whose  motive  in  killing  seemed  to 
be  scared  rage, — revenge  for  a  fright.  Another  was 
a  mere  beast,  a  powerful  creature  with  a  lithe,  panther- 
ish  spring  and  a  broad,  flabby,  expressionless  face. 
Ash  also  remembered  for  life  the  bayoneted  men :  the 


8o  A  Lover's  Revolt 

little,  knotted,  wrinkled  old  soldier,  Monroe,  clutching 
at  the  weapons  and  cursing;  the  big  wrestler,  Parker, 
trying  to  raise  his  gun  and  then  doubling  over  on  his 
back.  The  bayonets  crossed  and  clicked  as  they  were 
plunged  into  the  bodies  of  these  heroes.  War  was 
more  brutal  then  than  it  is  in  these  days  of  long-range 
firearms. 

Ash  now  perceived  that  he  was  alone  and  nearly 
surrounded;  and  without  stopping  to  fire  a  second 
shot,  he  fled  at  the  top  of  his  speed.  Something  be- 
hind him  (could  it  be  a  human  voice  ?)  shouted  in  a 
tone  of  gay  eagerness,  "  Shoot  that  tall  fellow !  "  Balls 
and  buckshot  hissed  by  him  spitefully ;  but  he  reached 
the  covert  of  a  small  building — a  blacksmith  shop — 
without  being  hit ;  there  he  halted  and  looked  back. 

There  was  still  a  fitful  blazing  and  banging  of 
musketry.  Several  of  the  patriots  had  taken  posts 
behind  walls  and  detached  buildings,  and  were  firing 
thence  upon  the  regulars.  Platoons  of  these  last  were 
charging  to  right  and  left,  the  men  running  eagerly 
with  their  muskets  at  the  trail.  One  platoon — a  loose, 
panting  swarm — rushed  at  the  wall  where  Abner  Sly 
had  made  his  ambush,  and  where  five  or  six  heads 
could  now  be  seen. 

Ash  fired  at  the  scarlet  coats  as  they  passed  him,  and 
grinned  horribly  when  one  man  fell.  Then,  while  he 
reloaded  in  frenzied  haste,  he  watched  the  skirmish. 
The  townsmen  fled,  and  the  soldiers  chased  them 
across  the  fields,  kneeling  individually  to  shoot,  and 
then  running  on.  Two  of  the  fugitives  went  down, 
and  Ash  heard  their  screams  for  quarter,  and  saw 
groups  stabbing  at  them.  Of  the  eight  fleeing  Ameri- 
cans that  dropped  that  morning  not  one  escaped  death. 


*'The  Shot  Heard  round  the  World"      8i 

The  life  of  the  lately  tranquil  village  had  become  a 
clamorous  tragedy.  Shrieks  of  women  and  long-drawn, 
unappeasable  wails  of  children  came  from  the  dwell- 
ings. Ash  saw  one  man,  Jonas  Harrington,  lying  in 
front  of  his  house,  and  his  wife  struggling  frantically 
to  lift  him  up,  her  mouth  wide  open  with  horror,  and 
her  cheeks  drawn  and  ashy. 

But  he  had  no  time  or  will  to  bestow  sympathy  and 
aid;  he  thought  of  nothing  but  of  securing  his  own 
safety  and  then  shooting  more  Englishmen.  He  cast 
a  swift  glance  around  him,  sprang  out  from  his  covert, 
and  bounded  homeward.  Yet  the  fury  and  terror  of 
battle  had  not  deprived  him  of  all  human  sentiments, 
and  as  he  panted  onward  he  looked  to  right  and  left  in 
search  of  his  father.  Neither  the  old  Squire,  nor  the 
white  horse,  was  lying  about  anywhere. 

He  is  at  home,"  thought  Ash;  but  at  the  house 
he  found  only  Abner  Sly,  mounted  on  Dobbin  and 
holding  Redskin  by  the  bridle;  the  horses  and  the 
human  creature  all  alike  anxious  and  restive. 

Hurry  up!  "  bawled  Abner.  "  Hurry  up,  if  you 
don't  want  a  bellyful  of  bagonets. " 

"  Where  is  father  ?"  demanded  Ash  as  he  leaped 
into  the  saddle. 

Ole  Silver  run  away  with  him.  Last  I  seen  of 
him  he  was  jumpin'  acrost  lots  for  Concord.  Tell  ye 
th'  ole  gentleman  was  leanin'  back  on  the  bits  all  he 
hefted." 

"  We  '11  make  a  turn  by  the  lane  and  overtake  him," 
said  Ash. 

They  cantered  through  a  succession  of  meadows, 
and  were  soon  far  away  from  the  village.  When 
Abner  spoke  again  it  was  to  explain  his  tactics  during 

6 


82  A  Lovers  Revolt 

the  skirmish,  though,  by  the  way,  he  did  not  suppose 
that  they  needed  justification. 

Sho!"  be  began  in  a  tone  of  honest  derision. 
"  That  was  a  dum  fooHsh  spot  to  draw  up  in — there 
on  the  Green.  That  wa'n't  no  fitten  place  to  fight  the 
Johnny  Bulls  in.  We  oughter  been  behind  the  stun 
wall.  And  when  I  seen  'em  chargin',  I  started  for  it, 
/did." 

I  saw  you  there." 

Did,  hey  ?"  chuckled  Abner.  **  Well,  by  gum, 
I  '11  bet  you  wished  you  was  alongside  of  me." 

Ash  could   not  help  smiling  at  a  recollection  that 
something  of  the  sort  had  entered  his  mind. 

If  we  'd  all  been  behind  that  wall,  we  'd  '  a '  whipt 
'em,"  continued  Abner.  **  I  tell  you  there  's  no  com- 
mon sense  in  the  reg'lar  way  of  fightin'.  The  redskins 
have  got  the  only  long-headed  tactics: — hurt  your 
inemy  and  don't  get  hurt  yourself.  All  the  rest  is 
ginral-trainin'  strut  and  tomfoolery.  Did  you  see  me 
hit  the  kurnel's  horse  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  father  will  say  you  fired  too  soon." 

No,  he  won't  say  no  sich  tarnal  nonsense.  The 
Square  is  a  judicious,  hard-headed  gentleman ;  though 
I  do  think  he  and  Parker  might  'a'  posted  us  more 
sagayshusly;  that  I  must  say.  Why,  I  fired  jest  as 
the  Square  spelt  it  out  to  us.  '  Wait  for  the  British,' 
says  he,  *  and  then  shute  back.'  Well,  I  counted  three 
shots,  and  then  I  counted  one  for  Abner  Sly.  If  my 
turn  did  n't  come  in  then,  when  would  it  come  in  ? 
Arter  I  was  shot  and  bagoneted  ?  The  Square  will 
say  I  waited  long  enough,  and  the  rest  waited  too 
long.     What  come  o'  Jonas  Parker  ?  " 

Bayoneted." 


*'The  Shot  Heard  round  the  World"      83 

"  Is,  hey  ?  By  gum,  I  wish  I  'd  killed  that  kurnel. 
I  could  'a'  done  it,  first  pop.  I  did  n't  do  it,  because 
he  sot  up  there  so  like  a — like  a  major  ginral;  I  swear 
I  could  n't  bear  to  kill  him.  So  I  jist  gin  his  horse  a 
scrape  to  let  him  know  that  Yankees  were  about,  and 
he  must  n't  be  too  dum  arbitrary  and  domineering. 
{  They  bagoneted  Jonas,  did  they  ? — the  best  wrasler 
in  the  county!  By  gum!  hereafter  I  shoot  to  kill 
every  time,  first  bullet  and  last." 

If  anybody  had  told  Abner  that  he  was  no  better 
than  a  redskin,  he  would  have  rephed,  "  I  don't 
wanter  be." 

I  dare  say  that  he  was  the  progenitor  of  more  than 
one  ranger  of  the  West  and  "  bad  man  "  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains. 


CHAPTER  IX 

AMBUSHING  THE   KING'S   TROOPS 

ON  the  Concord  road,  nearly  a  mile  from  Lexington, 
Ash  and  Abner  found  Squire  Farnlee,  astride  of 
Old  Silver,  craning  aloft  in  his  stirrups  to  reconnoitre 
the  enemy.  He  had  a  red  silk  handkerchief  tied 
around  his  temples,  and  there  was  a  streak  of  dried 
blood  down  one  of  his  wrinkled,  dusty-brown  cheeks, 
which  looked  all  the  harsher  and  dryer  because  they 
had  escaped  the  usual  morning  shave. 

* '  They  have  n't  left  the  village  yet, ' '  was  his  matter- 
of-fact  salutation. 

Did  you  get  hurt,  father  ?  "  asked  Asahel  with  a 
gulp  of  tenderness. 

Only  a  chip  off;  there  's  plenty  left  of  the  old 
block."  He  gave  his  horse  an  indignant  jerk  on  the 
bits,  and  added,  "  This  blockhead  ran  away.  He  dis- 
persed like  a  company  of  militia." 

"  Do  you  think  the  company  behaved  badly,  father?" 
No,"  said  the  veteran.     *'  New  troops  generally 
give  way  to  old  ones.     I  did  n't  expect  a  victory  there.'' 
Wal,  Square,  here  's  what  's  disappinted,"  grum- 
bled Abner  Sly.     "  I  don't  like  being  throwed  on  the 
fust  holt." 

**  I  err,"  added  the  old  man.     *'  The  victory  is  won. 
We  have  placed  the  king's  troops  and  the  king  in  the 

84 


Ambushing  the  King's  Troops  85 

wrong.     Our  people  will  now  arise  in  the  name  of  the 
law  and  of  justice." 

"  That  's  good  's  fur  's  it  goes,"  said  Abner.  "  But 
I  hope  we  hain't  got  to  give  the  inemy  the  fust  shot 
every  time.  I  don't  arise  to  battle  on  no  sich  onder- 
standin'.  Did  you  know,  Square,  they  bagoneted 
Jonas  Parker  ? — best  wrasler  in  the  county  I  That  's 
a  royal  loss  to  Massachusetts." 

'*  Somebody   must   fall,"   returned  the  old  soldier. 

He  will  be  remembered  when  you  and  I  are  for- 
gotten." 

"  Yes;  he  was  a  splendid  wrasler,"  sighed  Abner. 

The  Squire  rose  on  his  long  legs,  and  craned  along 
the  road  toward  Lexington,  lifting  his  peaked  chin  and 
half  closing  his  hollow  eyes  to  see  better. 

We  are  in  the  right  position  to  receive  them,"  he 
said  with  grim  satisfaction.  "  We  can  fight  them  all 
the  way  to  Concord,  and  perhaps  make  them  '  display  ' 
now  and  then,  and  so  lose  time.  We  will  play  the 
Parthian  on  them,"  slapping  the  butt  of  his  rifle. 
"  There  is  a  chance  of  making  a  Carrhce  out  of  this 
day's  business.  The  farther  the  redcoats  march  into 
Massachusetts,  the  likelier  it  is  that  none  of  them  will 
march  back.  Asahel,  it  would  be  a  fine  spectacle  to 
see  a  battalion  of  them  as  prisoners." 

Asahel  smiled  bitterly  and  sadly.  Even  the  hope  of 
a  triumph  over  Moorcastle  could  not  enable  him  to 
forget  how  miserable  Moorcastle  had  made  him.  When 
he  came  out  of  his  sullen  revery  Abner  Sly  was  dinning 
away  as  usual  about  ambushes,  like  Don  Quixote  bab- 
bling of  enchanted  castles. 

What  I  want,  Square,  is  to  find  a  skulkin'-hole  in 
the  woods,  and  open  on  'em  by  surprise.     We  could 


86  A   Lover's  Revolt 

give  'em  the  Injun  war-whoop,  too;  I  know  how  to 
yelp  it;  wawawa!  We  might  throw  the  hull  bihng 
of  'em  into  confusion,  and  slarter  'em  clean  back  to 
Bosting.  They  hain't  got  no  George  Washington  to 
save  'em,  as  he  did  in  Braddock's  defeat." 

"  We  may  try  something  of  the  sort,  Abner,"  re- 
turned the  Squire,  smiling  at  these  extravagant  calcu- 
lations. Then  he  listened  toward  Lexington,  putting 
up  one  hand  as  an  ear-trumpet  and  signing  with  the 
other  for  silence. 

"  That  's  it.  Square,"  murmured  Abner.  "  That  's 
their  tarnal  ole  snare-drum.  What  dum  fools  they  be 
to  let  us  know  they  're  comin' !  " 

"  We  will  fall  back,"  said  the  veteran,  quietly 
wheeling  his  horse.  "  We  will  take  post  at  the  next 
turn,  behind  the  brush.  When  they  get  within  range 
we  will  fire  once,  and  then  retire  upon  a  new  position." 

"  That  's  what  I  call  ginralship,"  nodded  Abner. 
"  That  '11  worry  'em  like  a  box  on  the  snoot  to  a  feller 
that  's  arter  a  kiss."  This  simile  apparently  put  him 
in  mind  of  his  courting  days,  for  he  added,  "  Tell  you 
what,  gentlew^;^,  I  wish  my  ole  gal  could  be  around 
and  see  me  fight.  She  's  always  sniggered  when  I  've 
jawed  about  battles  and  sich.  Great  Jehu!  would  n't 
I  like  to  show  off  to  her!  " 

The  Squire's  ambush  succeeded  to  Mr.  Sly's  entire 
satisfaction.  When  the  British  advance-guard  was 
within  a  hundred  yards,  the  three  sharpshooters 
emerged  from  their  hiding-place,  took  deliberate  aim, 
and  brought  down  a  redcoat.  A  volley  responded, 
but  musketry  at  that  distance  was  mere  chance  shoot- 
ing, and  the  balls  strayed  about  the  country  harmlessly. 
Old  Silver  showed  his  talents  for  Parthian  warfare  by 


Ambushing  the   King's  Troops  2>y 

running  a  furlong  or  two  before  he  could  be  pulled 
in. 

"  A  plague  take  this  beast!  "  grumbled  the  Squire. 

He  will  wear  me  out  before  we  come  to  serious 
battle.  Your  horse,  Abner,  keeps  up  well  for  an 
animal  of  his  build." 

Dobbin  hates  to  be  left  out,"  explained  Dobbin's 
owner.  "  He  's  amazin'  fond  of  company.  Awful 
sociable,  ain't  ye,  Dobbin  ?  If  Dobbin  could  speak, 
I  expect  he  'd  talk  the  hull  day,  and  do  his  eatin' 
nights.  How  many  did  we  bag  that  time,  Square  ? 
I  say  two.  At  that  rate  four  hundred  ambushes  will 
lay  out  the  entire  colyum.  Take  us  a  month  or  two, 
unless  we  have  more  men.  I  say.  Square,  do  you 
reely  think  a  rifle  is  truer  than  a  good  long  duckin'- 
gun  ?  Do,  hey  ?  Wal,  s'pose  it  is,  then,  if  you  say 
so.  But  I  allays  shall  admire  a  six-foot  duckin'-gun. 
It 's  the  weping  that  our  granthers  fit  King  Philip  and 
the  Narrowgansetts  with;  I  guess  that  's  what  makes 
me  like  it  so.  Annyhow,  if  it  hits  a  man,  he  feels  as 
though  he  'd  been  punched  with  a  liberty  pole,  and 
quits  pesterin'  you  all  of  a  suddint.  But  erry  one  of 
'em — rifle  or  duckin'-gun — is  wuth  four  bagonets.  I 
consider.  Square,  that  a  bullet,  rightly  aimed  from  a 
good  bar'l,  is  a  bagonet  that  sticks  a  man  forty  rod 
away,  and  sticks  him  clean  through,  fust  jab.  Lordy ! 
what  a  fuss  some  of  them  Tories  do  make  about  the 
British  bagonet!  Shucks!  it  took  seven  or  eight  pokes 
to  finish  one  of  our  chaps  this  morning,  and  he  already 
down  with  a  bullet!  By  thunder.  Square,  less  have 
another  shute. " 

There  were  two  more  ambuscades  during  the  next 
mile.     Each  time  a  man  or  two  dropped  in  the  scarlet 


88  A  Lover's  Revolt 

vanguard,  or  reeled  out  of  the  ranks  and  sat  down  by 
the  roadside.  On  each  occasion,  also,  the  vanguard 
returned  a  volley,  and  without  effect.  War  on  these 
terms  was  by  no  means  terrible  to  the  Americans,  and 
the  two  novices  were  ready  to  affirm  that  they  really 
liked  fighting. 

But  eventually  a  mischance  befell  our  Sons  of 
Liberty.  The  column  had  halted  to  rest,  and  our 
three  Parthians  were  watching  it  from  a  distance,  when 
several  redcoats  aimed  at  a  considerable  elevation  and 
fired  together.  There  was  a  sharp  ivJiit  zvhit  of  bullets, 
and  Abner  Sly  doubled  up  with  a  piercing  yell,  clutch- 
ing both  hands  across  his  abdomen.  His  companions, 
thinking  him  mortally  wounded,  stared  at  him  aghast, 
while  his  horse  took  advantage  of  the  loosened  bridle 
to  steal  to  the  roadside  and  nibble  at  a  tuft  of  herbage. 
Abner  kept  his  seat,  but  he  continued  to  give  forth  a 
keen,  quavering  cry,  terrifying  to  listen  to. 

"Hit,  man?"  demanded  the  Squire.  "  Asahel, 
jump  off  and  pick  up  his  gun." 

Asahel  picked  up  the  gun,  and  also  a  bullet.  * '  Here ! ' ' 
said  he.     "  Here  's  your  ball.     You  are  not  dead  yet." 

He  spoke  with  that  somewhat  egoistic  scorn  which 
the  unhurt  combatant  accords  to  the  slightly  wounded 
comrade  who  makes  an  outcry.  Abner,  still  warbling 
with  his  mouth  wide  open,  stared  for  some  seconds  at 
the  little  globe  of  lead.  Then,  with  a  curious  expres- 
sion of  mingled  hope  and  terror,  he  withdrew  his 
hands  from  his  waistband,  and  looked  for  the  supposed 
bullet  hole.  It  was  not  visible ;  his  leather  belt  had 
saved  him;  there  was  the  dint.  His  face  brightened, 
and  he  burst  into  a  glad,  childish  giggle,  broken  by 
pantings  and  hiccoughs. 


Ambushing  the  King's  Troops  89 

*'  Gimme  the  dum  thing,"  he  gasped.  "  I  want  to 
show  it  to  Keziah." 

Even  the  grim  Squire  smiled,  and  Ash  burst  out 
laughing.  Then  they  had  to  wheel  and  gallop  away, 
for  the  English  had  divined  that  some  one  was  hurt, 
and  several  of  them  were  running  forward  with  fixed 
bayonets. 

This  adventure  temporarily  depressed  Abner's  spirits 
and  enfeebled  his  pugnacity.  "  Tell  you  what,"  he 
said,  "  that  ball  gin  me  a  most  ongracious  tunk  on  my 
stummick.  Guess  I  told  on  't  at  the  time,  did  n't  I  ? 
Wal,  I  did  feel  a  mite  low-sperited.  No  use  in  a 
man's  tryin'  to  be  cheerful  when  he  thinks  he  's  got 
an  ounce  of  lead  in  his  bread-basket.  Dunno  's  I  want 
to  resk  another  tunk  right  away;  don't  seem  to  feel  so 
ambitious  as  I  did.  And  this  dum  old  Dobbin  " — 
here  he  banged  him  with  his  heels — "  had  n't  no  more 
human  feelin'  than  to  go  peckin'  round  for  a  luncheon 
when  I  was  yellin'  farewell  to  airth.  Tell  you.  Square, 
if  a  man  don't  mourn  for  his  own  troubles,  there  won't 
be  no  great  of  a  mourning  for  'em.  But  lordy!  don't 
ever  tell  my  Keziah  about  my  screechin'  and  beller- 
in'.  I  'd  never  hear  the  last  of  it.  No  man  as  is  a 
man  wants  his  own  wife  to  larf  at  him." 

"  Cheer  up;  Sly,"  said  the  Squire.  "  You  will  soon 
be  in  a  martial  humor  again.  There  will  be  provoca- 
tion for  it ;  there  will  be  bloodshed  and  arson.  Our 
people  will  strike  hard  when  they  see  their  houses 
and  barns  in  flames.  They  will  avenge  their  proper- 
ties, if  they  won't  avenge  their  liberties." 

"By  thunder,  yes!"  affirmed  Abner.  "If  the 
Britishers  set  a  light  to  my  house  and  barn,  they  '11 
get  me  right  up  and  down  rairin'.     I  shall  jest  snap 


QO  A  Lover's  Revolt 

my  halter,  and  off  for  the  woods.  And  then,  when 
the  Yankees  take  to  the  woods,  let  'em  look  out! 
Why,  Square,  I  've  heerd  my  granther  say  that,  when 
King  Philip's  Injuns  was  burnt  out  'n  their  villages 
and  wigwams,  they  fit  wuss  *n  ever.  They  tore  round 
faster  and  ambushed  offener  and  tomahawked  deeper 
and  skelped  furder  down.  They  fairly  made  New 
England  yawp." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Sly;  and  we  '11  make  the  British  lion 
yawp,"  said  the  veteran. 

Abner  was  so  flattered  at  being  called  Mister  that  he 
willingly  ceded  his  joke  to  the  Squire,  and  laughed 
noisily  over  it. 

Now  came  another  halt  to  bushwhack  the  invaders. 
But  the  English  had  decided  that  it  was  time  to  put  a 
stop  to  these  insolent  ambuscades.  Their  advance 
platoon  had  deployed  into  a  widespread  skirmish  line 
in  the  form  of  a  crescent  with  the  wings  thrown  for- 
ward. 

"  They  're  larnin'  to  hunt,"  grumbled  Abner.  '*  I 
don't  like  the  looks  of  that  hossshoe.  Square." 

We  must  get  on  one  flank  of  it  as  quick  as  pos- 
sible," said  the  old  soldier. 

They  cantered  onward  until  they  reached  a  bend  of 
the  road  where  it  entered  a  belt  of  forest.  Here  they 
stumbled  upon  a  squad  of  patriots,  five  farmers  in 
workaday  costume  and  armed  with  fowling  pieces, 
who  were  peering  through  the  alder  thickets  which 
fringed  the  wood.  One  was  a  man  as  old  as  the 
Squire,  with  a  dry  dead-leaf  complexion,  a  huge 
Roman  nose,  and  a  wilted  mouth.  Another,  who 
seemed  about  thirty-five,  had  a  fresh,  glowing  color, 
regular  features,  a  singularly  sweet  smile,  and  an  ex- 


Ambushing  the   King's  Troops  91 

pression  of  purity  akin  to  saintliness.  Also  there  was  a 
nut-brown  sturdy  nubbin  of  forty  or  more,  standing 
between  two  nut-brown  boys  of  eighteen  and  sixteen, 
evidently  his  sons. 

They  listened  attentively  to  the  Squire's  hasty  ac- 
count of  the  tragedy  at  Lexington ;  and  only  when  it 
was  finished  did  they  reveal  the  fact  that  they  had 
heard  it  all  before. 

"  Fact  is,  th'  ain't  been  no  skurcity  of  news,"  said 
the  nut-brown  farmer,  in  a  high,  rasping  yell,  as  if  he 
were  addressing  his  oxen.  ^'  Doctor  Prescott  he  went 
by  'bout  dawning;  an'  sence  then,  plenty  more." 

"  Why  don't  you  get  on  to  Concord  and  join  your 
companies  ?  "  demanded  the  Squire. 

The  florid  man  smiled  and  replied,  "  That  's  what 
I  've  been  seekin'  to  urge  upon  friend  Tykewood,"  in- 
dicating the  swarthy  nubbin  with  a  kindly  glance. 
The  contrast  between  his  sweet,  cultivated  expression 
and  his  monotonous  voice  and  rustic  pronunciation  was 
very  striking. 

"  That  's  so,"  yelled  Tykewood.  "  But  fact  is,  the 
boys — Dave  an'  little  Dan  here — wanted  to  shute  in 
our  woods,  an'  foUer  it  up  all  day." 

The  light  gray  eyes  of  Dave  and  Dan  glittered  in 
their  sunburnt  faces  with  a  sly  pugnacity  which  made 
them  resemble  weasels. 

"  That  's  a  good  plan,  if  you  want  the  British  to 
burn  your  house,"  said  the  Squire. 

Hey!  ?  !  ?"    yelped     Tykewood.      "  They    don't 
burn  folks'es  housen,  do  they  ?  " 

We  must  look  for  houses  not  made  with  hands," 
murmured  the  man  with  the  angelic  smile. 

Then  they  all  glanced  at  the  Roman-nosed  ancient, 


92  A  Lover's  Revolt 

as  if  for  direction.  He  had  had  the  air,  again  and 
again,  of  being  about  to  speak ;  he  had  parted  his 
withered  lips  and  showed  two  or  three  tobacco-stained 
teeth;  but  the  lips  had  closed  without  giving  forth  a 
sound.  Now,  still  speechless,  he  suddenly  shouldered 
his  long  firelock,  nodded  his  grizzled  head  at  the  Farn- 
lees,  and  set  off  toward  Concord.  The  others  followed 
him  in  single  file,  and  on  reaching  the  road  they  broke 
into  a  double,  the  ancient  running  as  steadily  as  the 
youngsters. 

"  That  's  the  Injun  trot,"  remarked  Abner  Sly,  sur- 
veying the  gait  with  satisfaction. 

But  he  had  no  opportunity  to  repeat  his  customary 
lecture  on  redskin  tactics,  for  the  Farnlees  had  plunged 
into  the  forest  and  were  making  for  the  flank  of  the 
British  vanguard.  The  party  cantered  for  some  min- 
utes along  a  faintly  marked  cart-track,  and  emerged 
from  the  wood  on  the  side  nearest  Lexington,  but 
hidden  from  the  road  by  a  long  ripple  of  land  dotted 
with  clumps  of  bushes.  The  Squire  took  off  his  cocked 
hat,  rose  in  his  stirrups,  and  peered  over  the  knoll. 

"It  is  a  fine  sight,"  he  said,  after  a  long  look. 
*'  The  reserve  must  have  joined  the  advance.  There 
are  seven  or  eight  hundred  men  there.  Bless  my  soul, 
how  I  used  to  love  that  uniform !  how  proud  I  used  to 
be  to  march  into  battle  alongside  of  it !  But  now  my 
duty  is  to  fire  upon  it.  If  we  could  only  make  them 
halt  and  display  !  Our  friends  at  Concord  need  time — 
time!" 

He  lifted  his  heavy  rifle  as  if  to  fire,  and  then  lowered 
it  again  to  the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  saying,  "  I  am 
an  old  man,  Asahel.  I  shall  shoot  better  afoot.  We 
will  dismount  and  tie." 


Ambushing  the  King's  Troops  93 

The  beasts  were  soon  haltered  to  some  hickory  sap- 
lings which  grew  in  the  shallow  depression  behind  the 
knoll. 

"  This  is  a  cruel  duty,"  murmured  the  Squire  as 
they  took  post  for  firing.  "  But  we  must  defend  the 
British  Constitution." 

"  Which  is  my  lobster,  Square  ?  "  enquired  Abner 
Sly,  who  was  already  taking  sight  across  a  grassy 
hummock. 

"  The  nighest,"  advised  the  old  gentleman.  "  I 
shall  try  for  the  next,  Asahel  for  the  third.  If  they 
recoil,  we  will  reload ;  if  they  charge,  we  will  mount. 
Now  then,  when  you  feel  sure,  fire." 

"  By  j rngs !  all  down  ! ' '  exulted  Abner,  as  he  dropped 
behind  his  hummock  and  fell  to  reloading. 

Yes,  the  three  nearest  infantrymen  were  down,  their 
scarlet  uniforms  staining  the  stinted  April  turf,  and 
their  comrades  recoiling  down  the  slope  toward  the 
highway.  But  in  a  minute  a  sergeant  had  rallied 
them,  and  they  were  advancing  in  skirmishing  order 
toward  the  knoll,  showing  a  Hne  of  fifteen  or  twenty 
firelocks.  At  a  distance  of  perhaps  one  hundred  yards 
this  line  halted  and  fired  a  volley. 

'*  Shucks!  "  scoffed  Abner  as  the  bullets  whistled 
over  him,  though  in  secret  he  drew  a  sigh  of  relief 
when  they  had  got  by.  He  picked  out  his  prey, 
turned  his  hatchet  face  toward  the  Squire,  and  was 
waiting  for  a  signal  to  fire,  when  he  discovered  some- 
thing which  made  him  call  out,  "  Hi!  look  to  the 
right." 

Three  mounted  officers  had  left  the  main  column, 
and  were  galloping  across  a  long  flat  of  meadow,  ob- 
viously with  the  purpose  of  flanking  the  ambuscade. 


94  A  Lover's  Revolt 

"  We  must  go,"  said  the  Squire.  "  We  must  get 
out  of  this  before  they  see  how  few  we  are." 

Then  they  discovered  that  Old  Silver,  that  most  un- 
suitable of  beasts  for  mounted  rifle  service,  had  broken 
his  halter  and  departed.  It  was  a  frightful  moment, 
for  the  officers  were  coming  on  fast,  and  the  infantry- 
men had  quickened  their  pace.  Abner  Sly  unloosed 
Dobbin,  bounced  into  his  saddle,  and  tore  off  for  the 
wood  without  a  glance  behind. 

"  Asahel,"  said  the  Squire,  "  mount  your  horse  and 
look  for  Old  Silver." 

It  was  a  question  between  them  (and  of  course  both 
comprehended  it  perfectly)  as  to  which  should  fall 
under  the  English  sabres  and  bayonets. 

"  Mount  yourself,  father,"  replied  Ash.  *'  Then  I 
will  look  for  Old  Silver." 

But  at  this  moment  Abner  Sly  galloped  toward 
them,  leading  the  runaway  steed  by  the  bridle.  They 
had  barely  time  to  get  away  at  top  speed  when  the 
foremost  skirmishers  showed  their  flushed  faces  over 
the  knoll  and  hastily  fired  three  or  four  harmless  shots. 
Indeed,  so  near  were  they  to  our  Yankee  Parthians, 
that  the  latter  distinctly  heard  one  of  them  cry  out, 
"  Danged  if  it  ain't  that  'ere  old  Death  on  the  Pale 
'Orse  again!  " 


CHAPTER   X 


SAVING   THE    STORES 


WHEN  the  fugitives  had  got  out  of  danger  the 
Squire  turned  to  Abner  and  said  in  his  crisp, 
dry  fashion,  "  That  was  a  close  shave,  Mr.  Sly, — a 
close  shave  for  you,  sir,  as  well  as  for  us." 

Vanity  and  modesty  had  a  sharp  struggle  on  the 
narrow  ridges  and  in  the  abrupt  hollows  of  Abner's 
sharp-edged  countenance.  He  evidently  felt  that  he 
had  been  profusely  thanked  and  complimented.  That 
"  sir"  from  such  a  social  grandee  as  Squire  Farnlee, 
and  the  implication  of  gratitude  which  beamed  from 
the  veteran's  unusually  affable  glance,  were  more  than 
a  Sly  could  bear  without  turning  dizzy  and  looking 
foolish.  For  Abner  belonged  to  the  lowest  caste  of 
Massachusetts  farmers,  and  represented  with  suitable 
hereditary  meekness  a  long  line  of  unrecorded  rustics 
like  unto  himself,  not  one  of  whom  ever  owned  a  hide 
of  land  until  the  breed  drifted  across  the  Atlantic. 

"  One  good  turn  deserves  another,"  he  mumbled, 
referring  probably  to  the  fact  that  the  Squire  had  got 
him  sworn  into  the  Minute  Men,  an  honor  which  he 
had  vainly  longed  for  in  his  own  township.  After  an 
interval  of  vigorous  tobacco  chewing  he  broke  into  a 
noiseless  chuckle  and  added,  "  That  was  a  lofty  Scrip- 
ter  title   they  gin  you,  Square, — Death   on  the   Pale 

95 


96  A  Lover's  Revolt 

Horse!  By  gum,  that  's  a  title  a  man  can't  git  by 
bein'  voted  for  in  town-meetin'.  A  man  's  got  to  ride 
and  shute  for  it." 

The  old  gentleman  shook  his  head  pensively  without 
replying.  The  Biblical  solemnity  of  the  appellation 
had  somewhat  startled  him,  and  roused  in  his  con- 
science a  scruple  as  to  his  right  to  undertake  the  mis- 
sion of  a  destroyer.  Once  more  he  argued  out  to 
himself  his  defence  for  shooting  redcoats.  They  were 
the  only  agents  of  Lord  North,  the  only  agents  of  the 
great  conspiracy  against  English  liberties,  whom  he 
could  reach  with  his  rifle.  He  must  aim  at  them,  or 
he  could  not  hit  tj^ranny  at  all.  Yes,  his  cause  and 
his  action  were  just ;  and  yet  he  did  not  like  to  be 
called  Death  on  the  Pale  Horse;  the  epithet  startled 
an  old  fellow  who  was  depressed  with  physical  weari- 
ness. 

"  We  will  amble  on  to  Concord,"  he  said  huskily. 
**  The  beasts  are  too  jaded  for  any  more  fighting  work 
at  present." 

They  rode  for  some  distance  in  silence.  Ash  busied 
himself  with  marvelling  over  the  tremendous  change 
which  had  come  upon  his  life  within  a  few  days.  The 
calm,  the  gentleness,  the  scrupulousness  of  his  youth 
were  gone.  All  that  morning  he  had  faced  death, 
and  had  sought  to  inflict  death,  like  a  professional 
bravo.  By  moments  it  seemed  a  dream ;  they  must 
all  be  visions,  the  men  who  had  fired  at  him,  and  the 
men  whom  he  had  shot ;  he  should  wake  up  presently, 
and  they  would  fade  from  his  memory. 

Then  he  wondered  that  this  blood-stained  dream 
should  not  be  horrible  to  him.  It  was  not ;  not  even 
strange.     All  at  once  he  was  wonted,   brutalized,   to 


Saving  the  Stores  97 

war.  He  felt  as  much  at  home  in  it  as  though  he  had 
passed  his  life  in  being  shot  at  and  in  shooting  others. 
Why  had  he  never  done  it  before  ?  Merely  from  lack 
of  opportunity.  Apparently  combat  was  the  natural 
state  of  man,  and  peace  an  enforced  episode,  the  result 
of  untoward  circumstances.  It  did  not  take  long  to 
become  a  fighter  and  a  veteran.  Of  course  there  were 
disagreeable  moments  in  battle,  although  at  this  mo- 
ment he  was  ashamed  to  admit  it.  He  had  cringed  at 
Lexington  when  the  British  muskets  blazed,  and  their 
bullets  whistled  over  him.  But  what  a  pleasure  it  had 
been  to  fire  back  and  see  one  of  his  enemies  drop! 

Why  did  he  fight  and  slay  ?  an  inner  self  (a  self  of 
other  days)  kept  on  enquiring.  Was  it  for  God  and 
conscience  ?  he  asked,  remembering  Warren's  high 
sounding  phrase.  To  his  astonishment  the  words 
seemed  to  have  no  relation  to  his  present  feelings  and 
conduct.  Was  it  for  revenge  ?  He  had  not  thought 
of  it ;  all  that  morning  he  had  scarcely  once  remem- 
bered that  Englishmen  were  overbearing  to  provincials ; 
and,  if  he  had  brooded  over  Huldah  Oakbridge's  pref- 
erence for  Moorcastle,  it  was  only  at  intervals.  Because 
Britons  shot  at  him  he  shot  at  them,  and  was  glad 
when  they  fell.  Moreover  (and  this  was  another 
powerful  motive)  he  was  ashamed  to  desert  his  com- 
rades, and  so  forfeit  their  respect  and  his  own. 

It  was  broad  daylight  and  bright  sunshine  when  our 
three  horsemen  came  upon  a  picket  which  had  been 
posted  about  half  a  mile  south  of  Concord.  Several 
of  the  men  hastened  forward  and  asked  eagerly,  "  Are 
they  coming  ?  " 

Yes,"    said    the    Squire,    with    a  yawn   of  senile 
weariness.     **  Eight  hundred  or  a  thousand  strong." 


98  A   Lover's  Revolt 

More  than  one  sunburnt  visage  took  on  a  pinched 
expression.  They  had  all  hoped  that  somehow  or 
other  the  king's  troops  would  be  led  to  stop  short  of 
Concord.  One  man  gazed  at  the  wearied  and  somno- 
lent Squire  with  a  nervous  petulance  which  reproached 
him  for  being  so  hard-heartedly  calm.  Another  broke 
forth  in  sudden  excitement,  "  I  begin  to  consider  that 
this  is  high  treason.  I  begin  to  consider  that  we 
ought  to  disperse  and  go  home." 

The  Squire  turned  upon  him  with  such  a  furious 
stare  that  he  slunk  aside  like  a  threatened  cur. 

There  's  some  on  'em  coming  in  waggins,"  put  in 
Abner  Sly,  patting  his  ducking-gun  significantly. 

**  That  so  ?  "  enquired  a  tall,  florid  youth,  his  face 
lighting  up  with  a  grin,  "  Been  a-gunning  for  'em  ? 
Hit  any  ?  " 

'Beout  three  for  my  own  bag,"  chuckled  Abner. 
*'  The  rest  accordin*  to  quality,"  and  he  bobbed  his 
head  sidelong  at  the  Farnlees. 

Nearing  the  village,  our  trio  came  upon  an  officer  in 
blue  uniform,  the  commandant  of  the  Concord  Minute 
Men,  Colonel  Barret. 

"  The  stores  are  pretty  nigh  all  safe,  Squire,"  he 
called  out  cheerfully.  "  All  hands  have  worked  like 
beavers  since  two  o'clock."  Then  his  face  turned 
grave  and  his  voice  fell  as  he  added,  "  That  was  an 
ugly  business  down  at  your  place." 

It  was  a  good  business,  Barret,"  returned  the  old 
soldier.  "  It  gained  you  Concord  people  two  hours. 
The  English  stopped  all  of  that  time  to  wait  for  their 
reserve  and  disarm  the  town.  Moreover,  it  settled  the 
question  of  fight  or  no  fight.  Resistance  has  begun, 
and  Lexington  is  immortal  in  history." 


Saving  the  Stores  99 

' '  I  suppose  the  bloodshed  had  to  come, ' '  said  Barret. 
"  Well,  Concord  owes  Lexington  thanks,  and  we  won't 
forget  it." 

The  village  was  a  scene  of  turmoil :  men  and  women 
and  children  toiling  at  the  emptying  of  storehouses; 
wagons  and  ox-carts  bearing  off  loads  of  tents, cartridge- 
boxes,  canteens,  and  other  military  stores.  On  the 
Common  two  hundred  militia  had  gathered :  some  of 
the  officers  calling  the  rolls  of  their  companies;  many 
of  the  men  leaning  on  their  firelocks  or  sitting  on 
fences;  others  picking  their  flints  or  counting  the 
bullets  in  their  pouches ;  a  rustic  array  with  but  a 
sprinkling  of  uniforms  and  not  above  a  dozen  bayo- 
nets. 

The  Squire  glanced  at  the  parade  out  of  his  cavern- 
ous eyes,  and,  turning  into  the  barnyard  gate  of  a 
large  homestead,  dismounted  with  a  groan.  "  Feed 
the  horses,  Asahel,"  he  said;  "  and  then  clean  the 
guns; — Abner  clean  his." 

He  was  so  jaded  that  his  speech  was  a  nearly  inartic- 
ulate mumble,  and  his  gait  a  dragging  shamble. 

When  Ash  entered  the  house,  some  minutes  later, 
the  veteran  was  asleep  in  a  chair,  his  towsled  gray 
head  aslant  against  the  \vall,  his  features  sunken  like 
those  of  a  corpse,  and  his  mouth  wide  open.  In 
another  chair,  gazing  at  him  while  she  knitted,  sat  a 
primly  attired  dame  of  about  sixty,  a  tear  on  her 
hollow  though  ruddy  cheek,  and  a  serious  smile  on  her 
twitching  lips.  The  smile  became  sunny,  and  she  held 
out  her  bony  hand  eagerly,  when  she  saw  the  young 
man. 

"  Why!  come  in,  Asahel,"  she  chirruped.  "  Your 
father  's  here,    resting  a   bit.     Surely  I   'm  glad   the 


lOO  A  Lover's  Revolt 

Lord  inclined  your  steps  this  way,  although  He  has 
called  us  to  meet  in  an  hour  of  tribulation  and  terror, 
and  He  alone  knows  how  it  can  be  turned  to  our  pros- 
perity. Brother  Dixwell  seems  to  be  clean  tuckered 
out  with  his  morning's  warfare,"  she  continued,  turn- 
ing her  tearful  yet  cheerful  eyes  upon  the  snoring 
Squire.  "  Really,  Asahel,  I  do  conceive  and  hold  that 
he  is  too  far  advanced  in  years  to  be  unsheathing  the 
sword  and  rushing  into  battle.  But  how  remarkably 
he  does  favor  father!  Perhaps  you  don't  remember 
your  father;  I  mean  your  grandfather.  I  am  getting 
so  old  that  I  mix  up  all  the  generations,  as  though  I 
was  eternity  itself  and  looked  upon  time  as  a  speck. 
Yes,  brother  Dixwell,  as  he  sits  there,  is  father  in  the 
flesh ;  meaning  as  father  was  in  the  decline  of  life. 
And  surely  he  is  too  elderly  for  fighting:  but  I  sup- 
pose you  can't  hinder  him:  it  's  in  the  blood.  And 
my  husband  too " 

Here  she  suddenly  wept  a  little,  and  as  suddenly 
dried  her  tears. 

"  He  is  out  there,"  she  resumed,  "  parading  with 
the  young  men  and  making  ready  for  the  strife.  I 
said  to  him,  when  he  was  getting  on  his  accoutrements, 
'  Now,  Jared  Mildmay,'  says  I,  *  you  are  not  vigorous 
enough  for  this  kind  of  capering.'  But  you  know, 
Asahel,  how  stubborn  the  deacon  is,  especially  when 
he  thinks  he  has  a  call  to  some  trying  duty.  And  so 
he  is  out  there  waiting  for  the  fray,"  she  sobbed  out, 
breaking  down  for  just  a  moment.  "  And  pretty  soon 
they  will  be  a-shooting,  and  perhaps  we  shall  have  a 
massacre  like  that  one  in  Lexington,  and  very  likely 
the  town  afire.  Well,  God's  will  be  done!  I  suppose 
men  must  strike  for  the  right,  especially  if  they  are 


Saving  the  Stores  loi 

Christian  men  and  leaders  in  the  church,  no  matter 
what  befalls.  Are  the  king's  troops  surely  arriving 
upon  us,  Asahel  ?  " 

"  They  can  scarcely  be  more  than  two  miles  away, 
Aunt  Mehitable.  Do  you  mean  to  stay  here  ?  You 
may  get  hit  by  a  chance  bullet." 

"The  Lord  will  decide  that,"  she  answered,  sob- 
bing again.  "  I  mean  to  stay  where  I  can  care  for 
husband  and  brother,  if  they  are  brought  in.  We 
have  got  everything  ready  in  the  house, — lint  and 
bandages  and  diachylum.  If  I  am  smitten  myself, 
Asahel,  I  trust  that  I  am  prepared.  I  am  trying  hard 
to  trust  the  Lord,  and  by  moments  I  feel  that  I  do. 
It  would  be  a  poor  upshot  to  a  profession  of  forty 
years,  if  I  should  lose  my  grip  on  faith  at  the  first 
solemn  call  to  have  faith." 

She  was  crying  so  violently  now  that  her  utterance 
became  unintelligible.  When  she  could  speak  once 
more,  she  added,  "  Whatever  be  the  Lord's  sentence, 
I  shall  await  it  here.  I  have  had  it  borne  in  upon  me 
that  this  is  my  place  wherein  to  await  it." 

Asahel  was  troubled  by  this  grief  and  this  devout- 
ness.  He  rose  hastily,  saying,  "  I  must  learn  how 
near  the  British  are.  It  won't  do  to  let  them  come 
upon  father." 

"  That  's  right,"  nodded  the  old  lady,  smiling  cheer- 
fully all  of  a  sudden.  "  Take  care  of  father;  take  care 
of  Brother  Dixwell.  I  have  some  hot  coffee  and 
breakfast  for  you  when  you  want ;  though  to  be  sure 
Brother  Dixwell  said  you  had  all  been  nourished;  he 
is  a  forethoughted  man,  your  father  is; — the  longest- 
headed  one  of  the  old  breed." 

Ash  went  forth  on  his  scout,  but  soon  returned  in 


I02  A  Lover's  Revolt 

great  haste.  The  air  was  full  of  warlike  tidings ;  the 
picket  had  fired  an  alarm  volley;  the  meeting-house 
bell  was  tolling;  the  foe  was  at  hand.  The  uproar 
awoke  the  Squire ;  but  he  did  not  at  first  seem  to  know 
where  he  was;  he  asked  in  a  thick  voice,  "  Has  the 
minister  come  ?  " 

'*  Ah,  Brother  Dixwell!  the  bell  ain't  ringing  for 
holy  service,"  said  Aunt  Mehitable,  laughing  and 
crying  all  together. 

"  I  was  dreaming  of  Almira's  funeral,"  he  explained 
as  he  struggled  to  his  feet — *'  your  mother's  funeral, 
Asahel." 

"  We  must  hurry,  sir,"  said  Asahel.  "  Colonel 
Barret  will  not  defend  the  village,  and  is  marching  for 
the  other  side  of  the  river." 

The  veteran  drank  a  cup  of  coffee,  shook  his  sister 
by  the  hand,  and  said  tranquilly,  "  Good  bye,  Mehit- 
able," while  she  wiped  her  eyes  and  answered  with  a 
quavering  voice,  **  Good  bye.  Brother  Dixwell." 

Then  he  mounted  and  rode  off  with  his  train,  very 
ill-humored  when  he  learned  that  Barret  had  aban- 
doned a  quantity  of  stores,  including  three  twenty-four 
pounders,  eight  thousand  musket  bullets,  and  sixty 
barrels  of  flour.  He  was  so  absorbed  by  this  evil  news 
that  he  showed  no  sympathy  with  the  white-faced 
women  and  crying  children  who  were  running  for  the 
fields  or  barring  themselves  into  their  homes. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  said  at  last.  "  The  stores  will 
occupy  the  British  while  Massachusetts  collects  her 
men.  Asahel,  if  Essex  County  does  its  duty,  not  a 
redcoat  of  that  array  will  march  back  to  Boston,  or  I 
know  nothing  of  warfare.  Your  aunt  looks  very  hearty, 
does  n't  she  ?     Really  quite  chirk  and  youthful." 


Saving  the  Stores  103 

Erelong  they  overtook  the  straggling  column  of 
Minute  Men.  It  marched  to  the  North  Bridge,  crossed 
the  lazy,  sedgy,  winding  Concord  River,  and  climbed 
a  gentle  eminence  which  fronted  it  at  a  distance  of 
some  fifty  rods.  There  the  rustic  soldiers  halted, 
formed  line  facing  the  bridge,  grounded  arms,  and 
broke  into  groups.  Their  countenances,  and  the  few 
words  they  interchanged,  showed  that  they  were  de- 
pressed and  mortified.  To  retreat  at  the  mere  report 
of  the  enemy's  coming!  to  give  up  the  village  and  the 
heavy  cannon  without  firing  a  shot!  It  seemed  to 
these  novices  in  warfare  mere  poltroonery,  and  they 
thought  that  Concord  was  disgraced  forever. 

They  knew  not  what  to  say,  and  they  knew  still  less 
what  to  do.  They  stared  glumly  at  the  village,  only 
a  mile  distant  and  broadly  visible.  They  could  dis- 
tinctly see  a  river  of  scarlet,  sparkling  with  bayonets, 
pouring  along  the  main  street;  and  when  they  kept 
quiet,  they  could  hear  the  monotonous  roll  of  the 
drums  and  the  thin,  petulant  squeak  of  the  fifes. 
Presently  the  scarlet  filled  the  Common,  and  then  spat- 
ters of  it  dribbled  away  in  various  directions,  no  doubt 
the  detachments  which  were  to  destroy  the  stores  and 
picket  the  bridges. 

Within  a  few  minutes  two  columns  emerged  from 
the  village ;  one  moving  down  the  straight  road  which 
led  to  the  South  Bridge,  and  one  taking  the  curving 
road  to  the  North  Bridge ;  the  first  consisting  of  three 
companies  under  Captain  Parsons,  and  the  second  of 
three  companies  under  Captain  Lawrie. 

The  Americans  ran  to  arms  and  formed  line.  Would 
the  English  cross  the  river  and  storm  the  hill  ?  There 
was  a  dissension  between  the  timid  and  the  audacious, 


I04  A  Lover's  Revolt 

between  the  men  of  legality  and  the  men  of  action. 
A  few  wanted  to  retreat ;  a  few  wanted  to  dash  forward 
and  seize  the  bridges;  the  great  majority  were  simply 
puzzled  and  irresolute. 

"  We  have  no  right  to  fire  till  we  have  been  fired 
on,"  was  perhaps  the  most  common  judgment.  Of 
course  the  great  majority  called  to  mind  the  fact  that 
they  were  only  a  handful  out  of  the  population  of  the 
colonies.  Was  it  certain  that  their  brethren  in  New 
York  and  Virginia  and  the  Carolinas  would  back  them, 
if  they  provoked  a  conflict  with  the  crown  ? 

We  citizens  of  the  great  republic  can  but  dimly  con- 
ceive the  perplexities  and  anxieties  of  those  born 
English  subjects  who  stood  on  that  hill  debating  in 
their  plain  farmer  minds  whether  they  should  open  the 
American  Revolution.  The  fear  of  facing  the  advan- 
cing bayonets  was  a  trifle  as  compared  with  the  fear  of 
confronting  the  charge  of  high  treason. 

The  men  in  the  scarlet  columns  had  no  such  respon- 
sibilities and  doubts.  They  limped  steadily  forward 
on  their  blistering  feet,  now  and  then  changing  their 
muskets  from  one  tired  shoulder  to  the  other,  attentive 
to  the  word  of  command  and  to  little  else.  Parsons 
crossed  the  South  Bridge,  skirted  the  right  flank  of  the 
American  position,  and  pushed  on  toward  the  farm  of 
Colonel  Barret.  Lawrie  halted  at  the  North  Bridge, 
and  sent  a  picket  across  to  guard  the  western  end.  Not 
a  shot  was  fired,  nor  was  there  a  summons  to  disperse. 
What  could  law-abiding  Yankees  do  ? 

"  They  are  going  to  your  house.  Colonel,"  many 
voices  cried.  ''  They  are  going  to  smash  up  the  gun- 
carriages. 

"  I  want  them  to  commit  some  overt  act,"  mumbled 


Saving  the  Stores  105 

the  puzzled  and  worried  Barret.  "It  *s  a  great  re- 
sponsibiHty,  ordering  subjects  to  fire  on  the  king's 
troops." 

"  How  as  to  Lexington  ?  "  demanded  Squire  Farn- 
lee.     ''  Did  they  commit  no  overt  acts  there  ?  " 

That  was  in  another  jurisdiction,"  urged  a  stout, 
flabby-faced  gentleman  who  had  the  air  of  a  justice. 
"  That  was  not  in  the  township  of  Concord." 

Barret  said  nothing,  but  he  looked  grateful.  Then, 
hearing  a  sniff  of  scorn  from  Squire  Farnlee,  he  walked 
away  by  himself,  glanced  after  the  column  which  was 
trudging  toward  his  house,  and  drew  a  profound  sigh. 
Never,  in  all  his  decent  agricultural  life,  had  he  known 
or  imagined  such  an  hour  of  trouble. 

In  this  deadlock  of  legality,  the  crisis  remained  for 
more  than  two  hours.  The  Americans  gazed  down 
from  their  hill  on  Lawrie's  troop ;  they  could  see  the 
men  of  the  picket  nibbling  at  their  rations  and  dusting 
their  black  gaiters;  they  could  count  the  steps  of  the 
sentry  as  he  paced  composedly  to  and  fro.  There  was 
much  futile  talk  among  the  youngsters  concerning  the. 
possibility  of  hitting  this  particular  "  lobster."  Pres- 
ently the  voice  of  an  elder  would  murmur,  "  Be  keerful, 
boys, — no  firing  till  we  're  fired  on."  And  then  the 
boys  would  growl ;  perhaps  in  a  spirit  of  honest  com- 
bativeness  ;  perhaps  in  conscious,  or  unconscious, 
shamming  thereof. 

Meantime  re-enforcements  arrived  :  companies  from 
Carlisle,  Chelmsford,  Weston,  Littleton,  Acton,  and 
other  towns :  loose  stragglings  of  yeomen  whose  soiled 
shoes  and  red  faces  showed  that  they  had  marched  far 
and  fast.  But  these  organizations  were  small,  for  only 
the  very  zealous  had  responded  to  the  brazen  alarum 


io6  A  Lover's  Revolt 

of  the  morning,  and  thus  it  was  nearly  ten  o'clock 
before  the  array  on  the  hill  numbered  five  hundred 
firelocks. 

Then  a  wordy  mutiny  broke  out  against  the  law- 
abiding  conservatism  of  Barret.  A  cry  arose  that  the 
British  were  burning  the  town,  and  hundreds  of  angry 
eyes  stared  at  a  smoke  which  piled  up  fleecily  from  the 
Common,  and  two  or  three  of  the  companies  ran  to 
arms.  It  was  soon  discovered,  indeed,  that  no  build- 
ing was  aflame.  Parties  of  soldiers  could  be  seen  rolling 
and  dragging  heavy  articles  toward  the  blaze;  and  the 
pacific-minded  among  the  militiamen  said  loudly, 
"  Oh,  it  's  just  the  barrels  of  wooden  spoons." 

But  presently  the  liberty  pole  was  cut  down,  and  its 
sacred  timber  added  to  the  exasperating  bonfire. 

"  How  much  more  are  we  to  endure  ?  "  shouted  Ad- 
jutant Joseph  Hosmer,  jumping  out  in  front  of  the 
battalion.  "  We  are  citizens  of  this  province.  Some 
of  us  are  citizens  of  Concord.  We  have  a  right  to 
enter  it.  We  have  a  right  to  cross  that  bridge.  Let 
us  go  down  there  and  claim  the  right.  Who  will 
follow  me  ?  " 

"  I,"  answered  Captain  Isaac  Davis  of  Acton.  **  I 
have  n't  a  man  that  's  afraid  to  go." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    DISCORD    AT    CON'CORD 

THERE  was  no  military  purpose  or  hope  of  utility 
in  the  American  advance.  It  was  not  strong 
enough  to  beat  the  English  force,  and  a  combat  would 
but  imperil  the  village.  But  the  men  needed  to  vindi- 
cate their  manhood;  they  were  ashamed  to  stand  so 
far  away  from  the  redcoats ;  they  wanted  to  dare  them 
to  fire. 

About  three  hundred  broke  away  from  the  deadlock 
on  the  hill,  and  streamed  down  across  the  meadows 
toward  the  North  Bridge,  marching  in  double  file  with 
trailed  arms.  At  their  approach  Lawrie's  picket  ran 
back  to  the  middle  of  the  bridge,  and  began  to  take  up 
the  gray,  warped  planks  of  the  well-worn  flooring. 
Major  Buttrick,  a  citizen  of  Concord,  sprang  forward 
and  ordered  them  to  desist.  They  glanced  at  him 
with  grave,  enquiring  eyes ;  then  they  turned  their  faces 
rearward,  as  if  listening  to  some  order  from  their  own 
officer;  then  they  composedly  replaced  the  planks  and 
retired  to  the  south  side  of  the  river. 

Meantime  the  Americans  formed  line,  the  captains 
shouting  to  halt  and  front  in  their  various  untrained 
voices,  and  the  men  stumbling  into  their  places  and 
coming  to  an  order.  For  a  minute  or  so  the  two 
arrays  stared  at  each  other  in  silence  across  the  narrow, 

107 


io8  A  Lover's  Revolt 

sluggish  stream.     The  leaders  on  both  sides  were  in  a 
state  of  extreme  perplexity. 

Captain  Lawrie,  a  short,  high-shouldered  man,  with 
a  pucker  of  worry  on  his  broad,  freckled  face,  ran  his 
gray  eyes  along  the  front  of  the  Americans,  and  then 
mounted  a  stump  to  peer  up  the  course  of  the  river. 
Like  many  another  subordinate  officer  on  detached 
command  (and  many  a  general,  too,  for  that  matter), 
he  felt  called  on  to  take  some  energetic  step,  and  did 
not  know  what  it  ought  to  be.  At  last  he  decided 
that  he  must  get  the  provincials  out  of  their  position, 
in  order  to  leave  a  free  field  for  the  return  of  Parsons' 
detachment.  His  blond  face  suddenly  flushed,  and  he 
shouted  in  a  long-drawn  bellow  one  of  those  utterances 
which  make  history,  but  which  nevertheless  history 
fails  to  catch. 

Did  he  cry,  "  Clear  that  road,  or  I  shall  fire  !  " — or 
did  he  simply  command,  "  Fire  !  "  ? 

Apparently  his  own  men  did  not  understand  him. 
They  sent  two  shots  up  the  river;  then  three  or  four 
across,  wounding  Luther  Blanchard  and  Jonas  Brown; 
then  a  straggling  volley,  killing  Captain  Isaac  Davis 
and  Abner  Hosmer.  The  Americans  stood  unresisting, 
as  if  stupefied,  until  Major  Buttrick  leaped  into  the  air 
and  yelled,  *' Fire,  fellow-citizens!  For  God's  sake, 
fire!" 

In  wild  haste,  and  with  the  bad  aim  of  excited  men, 
the  provincial  volley  was  delivered.  Three  English 
soldiers  fell  dead,  and  several  left  the  ranks  bleeding. 
On  neither  side  was  there  any  further  hesitation ;  the 
firing  continued  smartly  for  some  minutes;  the  War  of 
Independence  had  begun. 

Erelong  Lawrie  retreated  from  a  position  which  the 


The  Discord  at  Concord  109 

marksmanship  of  his  adversaries  rendered  untenable 
except  at  heavy  cost.  Re-enforcements  were  hurried 
forward  to  support  him,  but  he  formed  Hne  about  four 
hundred  yards  in  front  of  the  village  and  stood  on  the 
defensive,  a  more  than  ordinarily  undirected  and  puz- 
zled gallant  officer,  shaking  his  sandy  head  over  the 
incomprehensibility  of  colonial  affairs. 

Then  the  strangest  imaginable  truce  drifted  into  this 
half-meant  combat.  The  Americans  were  even  more 
perplexed  than  Captain  Lawrie.  They  had  recovered 
their  bridge;  they  had  stood  fire  and  proved  to  them- 
selves that  they  were  not  cowards ;  and  now  their  im- 
pulses and  provocations  to  fighting  seemed  to  have 
vanished. 

"  If  the  British  would  'a'  kep*  on  shooting,  we  'd 
'a'  knowed  what  to  do,"  said  a  ruddy,  hard-featured 
farmer  to  a  comrade.  He  spoke  in  the  vague,  de- 
pressed fashion  of  a  man  who  has  suddenly  lost  his 
purpose  in  life. 

Squire  Farnlee  was  not  thus  hard  up  for  motives  of 
action.  He  remembered  with  cast-iron  distinctness 
that  there  was  an  unsettled  question  of  constitutional 
law  between  the  colonies  and  the  mother  country. 
While  he  knew  that  the  provincials  were  not  strong 
enough  to  drive  the  English  from  the  village,  he  did 
believe  that  they  might  capture  the  force  which  had 
marched  to  Barret's  farm,  and  he  pleaded  for  this 
enterprise  until  his  voice  became  husky  and  almost 
inaudible. 

Buttrick  and  a  few  other  officers  approved,  but  the 
mass  of  the  men  listened  as  if  they  heard  not.  They 
seemed  to  have  lost  all  power  of  being  stirred  by  any 
sound  but  the  whistling  of  hostile  bullets.     They  stood 


no  A  Lover's  Revolt 

at  gaze,  or  loitered  about  like  bees  deprived  of  their 
queen ;  or,  if  they  attended  to  anything,  it  was  not  to 
the  pressing  business  of  the  day.  Some  carried  off  the 
dead  and  wounded;  some  seated  themselves  in  shel- 
tered spots  to  gossip,  or  to  smoke;  some  sauntered 
across  the  bridge  to  stare  at  the  English  slain ;  a  few 
lay  down  to  sleep. 

Into  the  midst  of  this  somnolent  armistice  trotted 
and  panted  Captain  Parsons  with  the  confounded  air 
of  a  man  who  has  heard  that  his  house  is  afire,  and 
finds  it  standing.  He  had  burnt  the  gun-carriages, 
refreshed  his  men  on  Colonel  Barret's  pork  and  cab- 
bages, and  granted  them  an  hour  of  much-needed  re- 
pose. Then,  hearing  the  firing,  he  had  hasted  back  on 
the  double,  manfully  taking  the  river  road  so  as  to 
reach  the  North  Bridge  and  succor  Lawrie.  And  now 
here  he  was,  with  less  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  men, 
in  the  midst  of  at  least  five  hundred  rebel  sharpshooters. 

The  Americans  might  perhaps  have  destroyed  or 
captured  his  entire  detachment.  But  they  quietly 
shuffled  aside  and  ceded  the  way  to  the  weary  and 
breathless  redcoats.  "  Let  these  men  pass,"  they 
muttered  to  each  other;  *'  these  men  have  n't  yet  fired 
on  us." 

It  was  the  last  utterance  that  day  of  the  pacific,  law- 
abiding  spirit  of  the  king's  subjects  in  his  province  of 
Massachusetts. 

Captain  Parsons,  a  red-faced,  iron-gray  veteran,  very 
puffy  just  now  with  his  double-quick,  looked  almost 
comically  bewildered.  He  evidently  did  not  know 
what  regulations  and  articles  of  war  applied  to  the 
present  crisis.  These  peasants  had  been  firing  on  his 
Majesty's  troops ;  and  ought  not  he.  Parsons,  to  give 


The  Discord  at  Concord  in 

them  the  British  bayonet  ?  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
considering  all  the  blasted  circumstances,  political  and 
military,  he  was  well  pleased  to  put  off  fighting  a  bit. 
He  was  in  a  trap;  that  was  the  long  and  short  of  it, 
by  Jupiter;  and  he  could  not  help  wanting  to  save  his 
three  companies.  He  trotted  on  at  the  head  of  his 
column,  keeping  his  brown  eyes  on  the  swarm  of 
Yankees,  thinking  occasionally  what  a  fine  grenadier 
some  tall  fellow  would  make,  scowling  defiantly  when 
he  encountered  a  stare  which  seemed  to  him  pugna- 
cious, but  on  the  whole  wearing  an  expression  which 
said  as  plainly  as  words,  "  You  let  me  alone,  and  I  '11 
let  you  alone." 

It  was  a  glad  moment  to  him  when  the  feet  of  his 
leading  files  banged  on  to  the  bridge,  and  a  still  glad- 
der one  when  the  feet  of  the  rearmost  files  quitted  it. 
He  stopped  to  see  them  all  over,  and  then  waddled  on 
after  them,  holding  his  right  fist  to  his  breast  in  good 
style,  and  keeping  his  scabbard  from  between  his  thick 
legs  with  the  left  hand,  a  valiant  little  gentleman  of 
right  loyal  principles,  but  cursing  Lord  North  and  the 
colonies  together  with  what  breath  was  left  him. 

There  was  no  halt  to  pick  up  Lawrie's  dead,  nor  even 
to  carry  off  his  wounded.  The  double-quick  did  not 
end  until  the  three  companies  had  formed  up  with 
the  other  redcoats  under  cover  of  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Emerson's  parsonage,  where  long  afterward  Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson  wrote  his  fine  verses  about  the  battle. 

These  men  of  Parsons'  detachment  were  extremely 
weary.  They  had  marched,  since  the  previous  mid- 
night, twenty-five  miles;  but  twenty  more  must  be 
done  before  they  would  be  safe  in  Boston.  Colonel 
Smith,    the   British  commandant,  allowed  two  hours 


n^  A  Lover's  Revolt 

longer  for  rest,   and  then,   a  little  after  noon,   com- 
menced his  retreat. 

The  American  swarm  now  awoke  from  its  lethargy, 
and  streamed  loosely  across  the  river  in  pursuit.  But 
on  the  southern  bank  there  was  a  halt,  and  a  cluttering 
of  solemnized  men  by  the  wayside,  all  staring  at  some- 
thing in  silence  or  with  low  exclamations. 

What    is    all    this  ?  "    shouted    Squire    Farnlee. 

Push  on,  neighbors.  We  are  wasting  precious 
time." 

Look  a'  that,  Square!"  said  Abner  Sly,  leaning 
forward  on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle  and  craning  over 
the  heads  of  the  footmen. 

The  Squire  craned  also,  and  saw  three  redcoated 
soldiers  lying  side  by  side,  piteously  white  and  still. 
One  of  them,  pock-marked  and  snub-nosed,  had  a  hole 
in  his  low  forehead,  and  a  streak  of  blood  drawn  from 
it  to  one  temple.  Another,  a  comely-featured  young- 
ster, his  glassy  blue  eyes  wide  open,  had  a  great  dark 
stain  in  his  scarlet  coat,  just  below  the  left  breast. 
Both  these  men  wore  such  a  placid  expression  as  if 
they  had  merely  fallen  asleep.  But  the  third  man,  a 
Hercules  in  build,  with  a  large  shapeless  face,  was  hor- 
rible to  see.  He  had  the  bloody  mark  of  a  bullet  in 
his  throat,  and  he  also  had  a  deep,  raw  cleft  in  the 
midst  of  his  powdered  hair,  while  his  eyes  stared 
fiercely  and  his  mouth  was  distorted  as  if  with  agony 
or  rage. 

"  Who  tomahawked  that  soldier  ?"  thundered  the 
Squire.     "  It  is  an  outrage." 

A  little  old  man  in  ragged  citizen  costume  looked  up 
and  exclaimed  in  a  piping  voice,  '*  My  son  Billy  did 
it." 


The  Discord  at  Concord  113 

"  Your  son  Billy  ought  to  be  hung,"  roared  the 
Squire.  "  He  is  an  enemy  to  humanity  and  to  these 
provinces." 

"  But  you  see  my  son  Billy  was  scart,"  squeaked  the 
old  man.  "  He  came  up  to  look  at  the  redcoat,  and 
the  redcoat  begin  for  to  git  up;  and  then  Billy  he  took 
a  fright  and  hit  him  with  a  hatchet.  Seems  to  me  't 
would  be  hard  to  hang  Billy  for  a  redcoat,"  concluded 
the  old  fellow,  looking  around  appealingly. 

"  I  don't  see  the  difference  between  one  piece  of  iron 
and  another,"  added  a  voice.  '*  The  British  bayoneted 
our  wounded  at  Lexington." 

The  Squire  was  about  to  reply,  but  Ash  touched 
him  on  the  shoulder.  "  Father,"  he  said,  "  I  think 
that  is  the  man  who  finished  Rob  Monroe." 

"  Ah — well,"  nodded  the  veteran,  "it  is  the  ven- 
geance of  God.  Never  mind  about  silly  Billy.  Tell 
him  to  go  and  enlist  in  the  British  army." 

"  For  a  ginral,  or  for  a  private  ?  "  enquired  Abner 
Sly,  and  with  a  feeble  chuckle  of  laughter  the  group 
broke  up. 

Then  the  pursuit  straggled  onward,  swarming  athwart 
the  fields  to  reach  the  flank  of  the  retiring  column,  and 
rapidly  dissolving  into  a  wide-spread  cloud  of  guerrilla 
warfare.  Whoever  wanted  to  hunt  the  redcoats  did 
so,  and  did  it  in  just  such  fashion  as  he  fancied. 
Colonels,  and  captains,  and  privates  went  a-gunning 
in  company,  and  on  a  footing  of  equality.  It  was  as 
if  a  whole  population  had  turned  out  to  track  a  wild 
beast. 

The  firing  began  east  of  Concord,  near  the  junction 
with  the  Bedford  road ;  and  from  there  on  to  Lexing- 
ton every  woodland,  and  rock,  and  hayrick  was  a  pos- 

8 


114  A  Lovers  Revolt 

sible  ambush.  As  fast  as  one  squad  of  pursuers  ex- 
hausted its  ammunition,  another  arrived  with  full 
powder-horns  and  bullet-pouches.  Companies  ran  in 
successively  from  Reading,  from  Billerica,  from  East 
Sudbury,  and  other  townships.  In  Lincoln  the  thickets 
and  stone  walls  were  alive  with  skirmishers.  Scarce 
ten  of  the  Americans  were  ever  seen  at  once,  yet  their 
bullets  sometimes  whistled  in  volleys.  The  stinging 
swarm  was  in  front,  and  on  the  rear,  and  on  the  flanks, 
an  omnipresent  torment,  sparsely  visible,  but  inces- 
santly felt. 

Erelong  there  was  not  a  soldier  or  officer  in  any  part 
of  the  scarlet  column  who  felt  sure  that  he  would 
march  another  yard.  Every  few  minutes  a  ball,  or 
perhaps  several,  hissed  spitefully  between  the  files,  or 
struck  with  that  cruel,  sickening  chuck  which  the  vet- 
eran knows  so  well.  Then  a  man  uttered  a  scream,  or 
a  groan,  and  dropped  like  a  sack;  or  he  reeled  against 
some  comrade  and  was  helped  forward  a  few  steps, 
soon  to  be  laid  by  the  roadside  and  left  there  panting 
and  turning  white;  or,  if  a  country  wagon  could  be 
seized,  he  was  hastily  lifted  into  it  and  driven  jolting 
over  the  wretched  road,  moistening  it  with  drops  of 
his  blood. 

This  perpetual  presence  of  an  invisible  death  seemed 
to  the  men  more  trying  than  violent,  open  battle. 
They  marched  with  the  lurking  gait  of  hunted  wolves, 
casting  around  them  anxious  and  savage  glances.  A 
few  crouched  so  that  the  officers  swore  at  them  and 
ordered  them  angrily  to  stand  up.  But  the  very  tone 
of  the  command,  its  eager  impatience  and  indignation, 
revealed  nervous  suffering.  For  everybody  was  jaded 
and  worried,  with  fatigue  as  well  as  with  anxiety.     In 


The  Discord  at  Concord  115 

scarcely  any  of  those  eight  hundred  faces  was  there  an 
expression  of  high  resolve ;  usually  there  was  a  stolid, 
sullen,  blinking  patience,  like  that  of  a  hardly  bested 
bulldog;  or  there  was  the  desperate  scowl  of  a  cat 
driven  into  a  corner.  Nearly  every  countenance  also 
revealed  a  stony,  unpitying  egotism.  Each  man  who 
saw  another  hit  felt  a  sort  of  gladness  because  that  / 
bullet  at  least  had  missed  himself. 

Of  the  many  trials  of  battle  there  is  no  greater  than- 
that  of  being  under  fire  without  returning  it.  Think 
what  it  is  to  be  merely  struck  at  with  some  slight 
weapon,  such  as  a  whip,  without  opportunity  to  ward 
off,  or  to  strike  back.  But  when  the  weapon  is  a  bullet, 
who  can  help  a  desire  to  evade  it  ? 

Moreover,  a  retreat,  even  when  ordered  and  in  order, 
is  always  disheartening.  Men  appear  to  have  a  special 
horror  of  being  hit  in  the  back.  If  they  must  move 
rearward  under  fire,  it  is  hard  to  make  them  move 
calmly;  their  instinctive  impulse  is  to  run  and  get  at 
once  beyond  reach  of  blows ;  they  may  become  quite 
steady  when  they  face  about,  but  not  till  then. 

With  the  English  it  was  a  retreat,  and  death  from 
behind.  Disciplined  as  were  these  old  soldiers,  they 
found  the  situation  horrible.  If  they  could  have  seen 
a  broad,  open  line  of  enemies,  they  would  probably 
have  cheered  with  joy.  But  to  be  hunted  by  invisible 
creatures;  to  be  slain  by  spits  of  smoke  out  of  thickets 
and  tufts  of  herbage;  to  find  every  tree  and  boulder — 
all  a  landscape — thirsting  for  their  blood — it  became 
every  minute  more  unbearable.  When  they  were 
allowed  to  fire  back,  they  did  it  with  a  vindictive, 
furious  eagerness  which  defeated  its  own  purpose.  At 
Merriam's  Corner  they  poured  a  roaring  volley  into 


ii6  A  Lover's  Revolt 

an  ambuscaded  company  without  hitting  a  man.  At 
Hardy's  Hill  they  did  better,  drawing  some  blood, 
though  losing  more. 

By  this  time  the  column  had  been  harried  into  rabid 
cruelty.  If  the  flankers  saw  a  Yankee  fall,  they  sprang 
recklessly  forward  to  finish  him,  and  they  lacerated 
him  with  repeated  bayonetings.  Sometimes  one  would 
drop  while  thus  wreaking  his  vengeance ;  and  then  his 
comrades  would  take  warning  and  fly  at  speed;  the 
two  foes  remaining  side  by  side,  all  of  a  sudden  at 
peace. 

To  these  jaded  and  worried  redcoats  one  of  the  most 
disquieting  visitations  of  their  horrible  march  was  the 
frequent  reappearance  of  a  tall,  gaunt,  white-headed 
pursuer,  mounted  on  a  white  horse.  Every  few  min- 
utes he  galloped  up  within  thirty  rods  of  the  rearmost 
files,  halted  his  raw-boned  steed,  levelled  his  long  rifle, 
fired,  and  fled.  But  before  he  could  turn  and  bend 
in  his  saddle  some  soldier  had  perhaps  dropped  with 
outspread  arms  in  the  road,  or  was  leaning  in  a  sickly 
way  against  a  comrade.  The  men  of  the  rearguard 
cringed  and  wanted  to  break  ranks  whenever  they  saw 
this  hoary  rider  careering  after  them. 

Two  other  cavaliers  also  made  themselves  hatefully 
familiar  to  the  soldiers.  One  was  a  tall,  swarthy 
youth  on  a  handsome  sorrel ;  the  other,  a  tow-headed, 
hatchet-faced  rustic  on  a  paunchy  bay.  These  two 
were  always  on  the  flanks,  making  sly  circuits  from 
one  covert  to  another,  and  firing  with  impunity  at  long 
range.  It  was  hard  to  say  whether  the  shrill  rifle  of 
the  one,  or  the  clamorous  ducking-gun  of  the  other 
did  the  most  damage  to  the  column.  The  flankers 
charged  after  them,  and  laid  ambushes  for  them,  with- 


The  Discord  at  Concord  117 

out  avail.  The  two  Parthians  slipped  away,  reloading 
as  they  cantered  through  the  meadows,  to  recommence 
their  slaughtering  work  from  behind  the  next  angle  of 
forest.  It  was  a  ball  from  the  rifle  that  unhorsed 
Major  Pitcairn  at  Lincoln  Crossroads;  and  it  was  a 
slug  from  the  ducking-gun  that  pierced  Colonel  Smith's 
leg  at  Fiske's  Corner. 

Nothing  but  inveterate  discipline,  perhaps  nothing 
but  the  fear  of  a  thousand  lashes  for  misbehavior,  kept 
the  harried  English  from  breaking  into  a  swarm  of 
fugitives.  Twice,  a  sort  of  trembling  seized  the 
column,  and  it  started  to  run  like  a  drove  of  scared 
horses.  Then  the  officers  had  to  hold  it  by  main 
strength,  collaring  the  soldiers  and  striking  with  their 
rapiers,  meantime  yelling  reproaches  and  curses.  The 
men  resumed  their  ranks  and  their  regular  pace  with 
a  worried  air.  They  tried  to  excuse  themselves ;  they 
declared  that  they  had  heard  an  order  to  double,  and 
appealed  to  each  other  if  it  were  not  so ;  perhaps  they 
really  believed  it. 

At  times  the  Colonel  ordered  the  music  to  play ;  the 
haggard  drummers  and  fifers  shrilled  out  gay  measures 
which  contrasted  strangely  with  their  blistered  feet 
and  anxious  hearts;  and  for  a  time  the  hundreds  of 
black  gaiters  moved  in  unison.  But  presently  the  firing 
grew  sharp;  stricken  men  cried  out  and  dropped,  and 
were  left;  the  waltzes  were  silenced  by  the  crash  and 
surging  of  combat ;  the  men  fired,  with  or  without 
orders,  at  random;  the  panic  came  uppermost  again. 
It  seemed  at  certain  moments  as  if  the  whole  force 
would  be  driven  to  surrender. 

At  Lexington  there  was  a  prolonged  skirmish.  The 
Americans,   posted    behind   houses    and    stone   walls, 


ii8  A  Lover's  Revolt 

rattled  their  bullets  and  slugs  into  the  column  as  it 
entered  the  village.  The  English  struck  out  furiously 
in  retaliation,  fronting  and  firing  volleys  by  company, 
charging  at  a  run  upon  the  ambuscaders,  burning  half 
a  dozen  buildings,  and  bayoneting  every  man  who  fell. 
They  lost  more  than  their  disorderly  adversaries,  but 
they  eventually  drove  them  to  a  distance. 

While  the  soldiers  were  fighting  for  a  minute's  peace, 
Colonel  Smith  had  his  wound  dressed.  He  was  in 
worry  of  mind,  not  over  his  leg,  but  over  his  detach- 
ment. During  his  morning  halt  at  Lexington,  dis- 
quieted by  the  unexpected  collision  and  bloodshed,  he 
had  sent  an  officer  back  to  Gage  for  a  re-enforcement. 
Now  he  regretted  that  he  had  not  despatched  two  or 
three  messengers  and  a  more  earnest  request. 

"  Good  God!  I  hope  Eastwold  got  to  Boston,"  he 
said  to  Pitcairn.  A  minute  or  two  later  he  added, 
"  My  God!  we  can't  linger  here.  These  dem'd  peas- 
ants are  fairly  swarming  around  us.  I  should  think 
they  dropped  from  the  clouds." 

And  soon,  all  too  soon  for  the  jaded  infantry,  came 
the  order,  "  Adjutant,  call  in  the  guards  and  form 
column  for  march." 

The  footsore  men  limped  into  their  places,  and  set 
forth  with  their  habitual  stony  composure.  There  had 
been  a  talk  among  them  of  coming  help,  and  it  was 
clear  from  their  faces  that  they  were  much  cheered. 
But  scarcely  had  they  got  outside  the  village  before 
they  began  to  lose  their  confidence,  for  no  approaching 
re-enforcement  was  visible,  and  the  ambuscaded  tor- 
ment was  fiercer  than  ever.  It  seemed  as  though  the 
bullets  which  sang  out  from  behind  thicket,  and  wall, 
and  boulder  demanded  the  blood  of  the  last  one  of 


The  Discord  at  Concord  119 

them.  The  jaded,  drawn,  dust-begrimed  countenances 
of  these  almost  exhausted  veterans  gradually  became 
gloomier  and  more  desperate.  They  had  found  their 
march  of  six  miles  from  Concord  a  severe  trial.  How 
could  they  endure  to  run  this  gauntlet  of  fire  for  four- 
teen miles  farther  ?  The  bravest  cohort  in  the  world 
flinches  at  the  prospect  of  perishing  by  slow  torture. 

Of  a  sudden  there  came  an  uncontrollable  stampede; 
the  column  broke  into  a  double-quick  and  ran  for  a 
considerable  distance.  The  commands,  the  entreaties, 
the  blasphemies,  and  the  blows  of  the  officers  were  all 
useless.  The  men  kept  together;  they  remained  in 
the  highway  ;  they  held  on  to  their  arms ;  but  run  they 
would.  At  last  the  officers  rushed  to  the  front,  formed 
a  line  across  the  road,  and,  presenting  their  rapiers, 
threatened  death  to  whomsoever  should  attempt  to 
pass.  The  breathless  troops  halted ;  the  panic  came 
to  an  end  in  a  minute;  the  column  fell  into  shape 
instinctively ;  and  the  woeful  ranks  stumbled  on  as 
before. 


CHAPTER    XII 

CAPTAIN   MOORCASTLE   AND   PRIVATE   FARNLEE 

AT  last,  on  the  high  ground  near  Monroe's  Tavern, 
half  a  mile  south  of  Lexington,  the  retreating 
Enghsh  discovered  the  longed-for  re-enforcement. 
There  was  an  involuntary  quickening  of  speed,  fol- 
lowed by  a  panting  struggle  up  the  long  slope ;  and 
then  Smith's  soldiers  burst  running  into  Percy's  hol- 
low square  and  threw  themselves  on  the  ground,  their 
tongues  lolling  out  of  their  parched  mouths.  Twenty- 
five  miles  they  had  marched,  and  some  of  them  near 
to  thirty-two,  during  the  last  fourteen  hours.  No 
doubt  many  of  them  felt  that  it  would  be  more  toler- 
able to  surrender,  or  to  die  fighting,  than  to  make  the 
remaining  fourteen  miles  of  their  journey. 

The  long,  narrow,  aquiline,  gentle  face  of  Earl  Percy 
showed  compassion  and  dismay  as  he  gazed  upon  these 
jaded  soldiers.  How  could  he  get  them  in  safety  to 
Boston?  He  had  marched  out  to  the  tune  of  Yankee 
Doodle  ;  would  he  be  driven  back  to  the  tune  of  Chevy 
Chase  ? 

"  We  are  all  very  glad  to  see  you,  m'  lud,"  said 
Colonel  Smith  in  the  hoarse  voice  of  a  well  used-up 
commander. 

"  Better  late  than  never,"  returned  Percy.  "  There 
was  a  series  of  blunders  in  getting  the  troops  ready. 

1 20 


Captain  Moorcastle  and  Private  Farnlee   121 

But  never  mind  about  that.  Here  we  are,  twelve 
hundred  men  and  two  pieces;  I  think  we  shall  be 
enough  for  the  business." 

"  None  too  many,  m'  lud.  The  Yankees  are  mon- 
strous numerous." 

Percy  turned  his  long,  thin  nose  and  mild  eyes  around 
the  landscape,  scanning  the  groups  of  provincials  who 
were  watching  the  square  from  various  points,  like 
vultures  waiting  for  a  wounded  beast  to  leave  its 
covert.  "It  is  two  o'clock  past,"  he  said.  "  We 
can't  give  you  much  time  to  rest." 

"  Very  true,"  nodded  the  Colonel,  who  was  leaning 
a  little  awry  to  keep  his  weight  off  his  wounded  leg, 
and  drawing  down  one  corner  of  his  mouth  in  uncon- 
scious acknowledgment  of  the  pain.  "  The  longer  we 
wait,  the  worse  we  shall  fare.  These  fellows  seem  to 
drop  from  the  clouds." 

The  order  for  march  was  soon  given.  The  two 
howitzers  bellowed  once  toward  Lexington  as  a  warn- 
ing against  trespassers;  and  some  of  Smith's  people 
raised  a  voluntary  cheer,  as  hardly  bested  soldiers 
often  do  over  the  noise  of  their  own  cannon.  The 
fresh  troops  took  the  front  and  rear,  and  the  scarlet 
array  set  forward.  It  was  many  minutes  before  the 
skirmishing  recommenced;  for  the  Americans,  like  all 
inexperienced  fighters,  dreaded  cannon  more  than 
musketry ;  and  moreover,  numbers  of  them,  wearied 
with  the  chase,  or  having  expended  their  ammunition, 
had  turned  their  faces  homeward.  The  men  of  Smith's 
detachment  found  a  particular  pleasure  in  losing  sight 
of  certain  figures  which  they  had  seen  oftener  than 
they  had  wanted  to.  The  old  man  on  the  white 
horse,  for  instance,  had  ceased  to  haunt  the  rear. 


122  A  Lovers  Revolt 

"  He  don't  want  to  put  his  rack  o'  bones  within 
reach  of  grape,"  said  one  soldier. 

"  I  'd  Hke  to  feel  the  heft  av  his  carkiss  on  me  bag- 
onet,"  returned  an  Irishman. 

There  was  a  little  laugh  in  the  ranks,  and  the  men 
limped  along  the  easier.  The  temporary  cessation  of 
the  skirmishing  had  quickly  restored  their  habitual, 
hardened  cheerfulness.  Already  they  were  thoughtless 
of  the  many  scores  of  comrades  left  behind,  the  dead, 
and  the  dying,  and  the  sorely  wounded,  the  stragglers 
whom  they  supposed  to  be  murdered.  It  was  not 
they,  at  any  rate,  who  would  have  to  bury  them.  A 
soldier's  life  is  so  full  of  violent  emotions  that  he  can- 
not keep  any  one  emotion  long ;  a  ball  which  has  passed 
is  instantly  forgotten,  and  a  comrade  who  has  fallen  is 
forgotten  likewise. 

The  men  just  arrived  from  Boston  were  fairly  fresh 
and  quite  cheerful.  They  held  the  post  of  danger, 
and  were  for  the  moment  glad  to  do  so.  They  were 
disposed  to  laugh  at  their  jaded  comrades  for  having 
retired  so  hastily  before  a  flock  of  farmers.  Veterans 
as  they  were,  and  knowing  full  well  what  a  serious 
thing  battle  is,  they  were  rather  anxious  for  a  brush 
with  the  natives,  if  only  to  show  Smith's  fellows  how 
to  do  it.  Even  the  officers  of  the  line  companies 
strutted  a  little  more  than  usual  because  the  grenadiers 
and  light  infantry  had  been  pretty  smartly  pestered. 

Among  the  mounted  notables  who  had  arrived  with 
Percy  was  Moorcastle.  His  black  eyes  had  their  char- 
acteristic stare,  and  his  dark  face  showed  as  many 
cranberry  spots  as  ever;  but  in  some  other  respects  he 
was  not  the  same  person  with  the  unconsciously  dom- 
ineering autocrat  of  the  Oakbridge  dinner-table.      It 


Captain  Moorcastle  and  Private  Farnlee   123 

was  obvious  that  he  would  not  treat  a  British  officer  as 
insolently  as  he  had  felt  free  to  treat  civilian  Yankees. 
It  was  obvious,  too,  that  he  was  on  duty,  and  was 
taking  his  duty  seriously. 

Presently  he  rode  alongside  of  Pitcairn,  who  had 
been  remounted  on  the  horse  of  an  orderly. 

**  Ah,  how  de  do,  Captain  ?  "  said  the  Major,  with 
that  cordiality  which  few  officers  deny  to  a  fellow  who 
belongs  to  the  general's  staff.  *'  Glad  to  see  you  along 
with  us.  But  how  could  the  little  Boston  beauty  let 
you  come  away  ?  " 

Moorcastle  perceived  that  Pitcairn  was  toadying  to 
him,  and  he  was  quite  shrewd  enough  to  divine  the 
reason  why.  The  poor  gentleman  undoubtedly  felt 
painfully  responsible  for  the  beginning  of  this  day's 
bloody  business,  and  was  clearly  anxious  to  secure  a 
favorable  report  at  headquarters.  The  appeal  had  its 
flattery,  and  Moorcastle  responded  to  it  with  a  civil 
joke. 

"  The  beauty  was  n't  consulted,"  he  said.  "  The 
General  sometimes  forgets  to  ask  her  advice." 

The  Major  haw-hawed  :  "  Capital! — very  good,  that! 
— forgets  to  ask  her  advice! — very  good." 

It  was  pathetic  to  see  how  eager  the  veteran  was  to 
please  this  young  staff-officer.     * '  Charming  little  girl, 
he  added,  not  knowing  what  better  to  say.     "  I  hope 
she  '11  prove  as  good  as  she  looks." 

"  Oh,  she  '11  do — for  a  while,"  grinned  the  Captain 
with  honest  hard-heartedness,  altogether  unaware  that 
his  hardness  was  unattractive,  and  indeed  supposing 
the  contrary. 

"  Oh!  "  said  Pitcairn,  who  had  too  many  daughters 
to  like  the  speech. 


124  ^  Lover's  Revolt 

Moorcastle  now  entered  upon  the  business  which 
Gage  had  confided  to  him.  "  By  the  way,"  he  re- 
sumed, "  his  Excellency  is  very  anxious  to  be  able  to 
prove  that  this  brush  was  not  commenced  by  the  king's 
troops.  You  understand,  of  course,  Major,  the  great 
importance  of  that  point.  Those  fellows  in  Parlia- 
ment, you  know " 

"  Certainly  I  do,"  said  Pitcairn,  understanding  it  all 
at  once  better  than  he  had  before.  "  And  I  am  so 
exceeding  glad  to  tell  you  about  it.  Why!  unques- 
tionably the  Yankees  fired  first.  The  very  first  man 
that  I  saw  fire  was  a  peasant  behind  a  wall  to  my  left, 
who  let  drive  at  me  personally  and  wounded  my  horse. 
Then,  very  naturally,  my  soldiers  broke  out.  I 
could  n't  stop  them.  I  shouted,  '  Cease  firing  ' ;  I  ges- 
tured with  my  cane;  I  slapped  it  down,  you  compre- 
hend. But  it  was  still  darkish ;  and  there  was  such  a 
doose  of  an  uproar,  both  sides  firing! — really  it  was 
impossible  to  stop  it." 

"  Ah  —  very  good — "  Moorcastle's  face  was  still 
grave,  and  he  did  not  seem  convinced.  "  I  hope  you 
will  make  a  strong  case  on  that  point,"  he  continued. 
*'  His  Excellency  is  exceedingly  anxious  to  show  that 
we  were  not  the  aggressors." 

"  Why,  Captain!  "  the  Major  cried  out.  "  Why, 
good  heavens !  what  do  you  take  me  for  ?  Am  I — an 
old  fellow  with  eleven  children — am  I  the  sort  of  man 
for  violent  counsels  ?  Have  I  the  reputation  of  loving 
blood  and  severity  ?  You  know  the  name  I  bear 
among  the  soldiers;  you  know  what  they  call  me — 
Father  Pitcairn." 

This  was  not  quite  to  the  point,  and  Moorcastle's 
hard  face  still  showed  a  worried  expression,  the  refiec- 


Captain  Moorcastle  and  Private  Farnlee   125 

tion  probably  of  the  worries  of  his  major-general. 
Then  it  occurred  to  Pitcairn  that  he  had  brought  great 
trouble  of  mind  upon  others,  and  very  many  others, 
as  well  as  upon  himself. 

"  One  cannot  always  be  sure  how  a  skirmish  began," 
he  said  meekly.  "  A  man  sometimes  remembers  B 
for  A.  But  what  I  tell  you  is  the  business  as  I  saw  it; 
and  I  will  stand  to  my  statement  before  the  proper 
tribunal.  If  the  word  of  a  British  officer  is  insufficient, 
I  will  add  my  oath." 

"  Thank  you,  Major,"  returned  Moorcastle  with  a 
gentleness  and  courtesy  which  would  have  amazed  Ash 
Farnlee.  And,  raising  his  hand  in  salute,  he  trotted 
away  with  a  contented  face,  for  he  had  got  the  state- 
ment that  his  general  wanted. 

He  had  just  reached  the  head  of  the  column  when 
Lord  Percy  said  to  him,  "  I  want  you  to  ride  ahead. 
Captain,  and  see  what  the  advance  is  about." 

Moorcastle,  glad  of  a  little  active  work,  galloped 
forward  to  the  vanguard.  The  chief  of  it  explained 
to  him  that  he  was  going  into  skirmish-line  because 
there  were  signs  of  an  ambuscade  in  a  thicket  two  hun- 
dred yards  in  front.  Just  then  a  puff  of  smoke  broke 
from  the  thicket,  and  a  ball  sang  with  a  curious  lei- 
surely hum  over  Moorcastle's  head,  severely  bruising  a 
sergeant  behind  him  who  was  superintending  the  de- 
ployment. In  the  next  moment  a  single  horseman, 
mounted  on  a  pudgy  bay,  emerged  from  the  hostile 
covert^and  cantered  off,  insolently  following  the  high- 
road. Moorcastle  leaned  over  the  pommel  of  his 
saddle  and  dashed  away  in  pursuit. 

Abner  Sly,   looking  back  over  one  bony  shoulder, 
perceived  that  he  must  ride  for  a  skulking-place.     He 


126  A  Lover's  Revolt 

lashed  Dobbin  to  the  top  speed  of  his  mustang  lope, 
and  made  for  a  farmhouse  which  lay  three  or  four  hun- 
dred yards  farther  on,  purposing  either  to  find  a  shelter 
behind  its  enclosures,  or  to  join  some  ambuscaded 
comrade  there.  Of  course  the  farmhouse  had  a  barn, 
and  naturally  a  barnyard  alley  led  up  to  it,  with  a 
broad,  swinging  gate  at  the  highway  entrance.  Abner 
wheeled  into  this  alley;  pushed  to  the  gate  behind 
him;  galloped  on  forty  or  fifty  yards;  let  down  a  set 
of  bars  and  got  over  them ;  put  them  up  again  and  re- 
mounted— all  this  just  in  time  to  save  his  pelt. 

After  him  came  Moorcastle,  dashing  through  the 
gate  with  a  fiery  whirl,  and  jostling  it  so  violently  that 
it  rebounded  from  a  sapling  behind  it.  He  heard  it 
close  and  latch,  but  did  not  think  of  it  at  the  moment, 
so  eager  was  he  in  his  chase.  Pistol  in  hand,  he 
galloped  on  to  the  bars,  but  they  were  too  high  to 
leap.  He  fired  and  missed;  then  with  all  possible 
speed  he  fired  his  second  pistol;  but  the  fleeing  Yan- 
kee, lying  flat  on  his  horse,  got  away  safe. 

At  that  moment  Moorcastle  heard  a  voice  of  doom 
shout  hoarsely,  "  Surrender!  " 

He  turned  and  saw  a  second  mounted  Yankee,  not 
more  than  thirty  or  forty  feet  distant,  but  separated 
from  him  by  a  picket  fence,  the  enclosure  of  the 
farmer's  vegetable  garden.  He  was  a  tall  young  fellow 
with  a  high  color  in  his  swarthy  cheeks,  and  a  flashing 
black  eye  which  looked  steadily  along  a  rifle-barrel. 
He  had  on  a  blue  uniform  coat,  and  his  hands  and 
mouth  were  smeared  with  powder;  but  Moorcastle  at 
once  recognized  him  as  the  youth  whom  he  had  met 
at  the  Oakbridge  table.  Oh,  how  distinctly,  in  that 
unblest  moment,  he  remembered  him  and  all  that  had 


Captain  Moorcastle  and  Private  Farnlee   127 

passed  between  them  I  his  own  arrogance  as  to  the  ques- 
tion of  Yankee  feebleness  and  cowardice !  his  insolent 
kiss  upon  the  cheek  of  that  half-willing,  silly  girl !  and 
the  ghastly  grief  with  which  this  youth  had  beheld  it ! 
How  dare  you,  sir!  "  he  shouted,  though  he  felt 
that  the  exclamation  was  ridiculous,  and  expected  to 
die  before  he  could  finish  it. 

But  Farnlee  had  also  recollected  Moorcastle.  His 
face  turned  white  much  quicker  than  if  he  had  received 
a  bullet  in  his  heart.  He  seemed  to  be  paralyzed  at 
the  sight  of  this  man  who  had  wrought  him  by  far  the 
greatest  harm  and  woe  that  he  had  ever  received  from 
mortal.  He  wanted  to  shoot  him,  and  yet  he  could 
not.  All  day  he  had  looked  for  him  with  the  purpose 
of  killing  him ;  and  now  that  he  had  him  under  his 
hand,  that  hand  would  not  draw  the  trigger;  it  could 
slay  in  battle,  but  it  could  not  commit  murder. 

Meantime  the  young  Englishman — longing  to  escape 
and  knowing  that  he  could  not — cringing  at  the  thought 
of  a  ball  in  his  back  and  preferring  to  take  it  in  his 
breast — sat  upright  in  his  saddle  staring  at  the  Ameri- 
can. Of  a  sudden,  and  in  a  voice  of  stern  command, 
the  latter  shouted,  "  Dismount!  " 

Moorcastle  hoped  that  he  was  to  be  let  off  with  the 
loss  of  his  horse.  He  instantly  obeyed  the  order,  and 
as  he  touched  the  earth  a  spiteful  whistle  passed  over 
his  head,  the  sound  of  a  ball  coming  from  the  field  be- 
yond the  bars.  Instinctively  he  glanced  in  that  direc- 
tion, and  saw  the  Yankee  on  the  bay  horse  reloading, 
evidently  intent  on  further  shooting.  And  then 
Moorcastle  found  himself  at  liberty,  for  the  tall  young 
provincial  in  uniform  made  him  a  signal  to  depart,  and 
at  once  rushed  away  at  a  gallop. 


128  A  Lover's  Revolt 

"Well?"  enquired  Lord  Percy  when  the  Captain 
rejoined  him. 

"  There  were  two  of  them,  m'  lud,"  repHed 
Moorcastle.  "  But  they  disappeared,"  he  presently 
remembered  to  add,  for  his  adventure  had  made  him 
absent-minded. 

"  You  are  not  hit,  I  hope,"  said  Percy,  eying  him 
steadily. 

Moorcastle  reddened  with  shame  at  the  suspicion 
that  he  might  be  pale.  "  No,  m'  lud,"  he  mumbled. 
"  We  wasted  two  or  three  shots  on  each  other;  that 
was  all. 

Then  he  dropped  rearward  to  escape  further  cate- 
chising, and  erelong  bethought  himself  to  reload  his 
pistols,  meanwhile  pondering  anew  over  his  brief  cap- 
tivity and  strange  escape,  and  muttering  in  a  mortified 
whisper,  "  The  devil! — the  devil!  " 

He  needed  his  pistols  more  than  once  before  reach- 
ing Boston.  Two  miles  below  Lexington  the  skir- 
mishing recommenced,  and  raged  for  four  hours  around 
the  suffering,  retaliating  column.  Nearly  every  one 
of  the  various  woodlands  which  touched  upon  the  road 
was  a  scene  of  clamorous  bush-fighting.  At  West 
Cambridge  musketry  and  cannon  roared  for  many 
minutes,  the  provincials  being  rallied  and  cheered  on 
by  Colonel  Heath  and  Joseph  Warren,  and  the  latter 
receiving  a  ball  through  his  curled  hair.  The  English 
fought  with  rage  and  vindictiveness  ;  houses  were 
plundered  and  burned,  and  helpless  people  slain;  the 
bayonet  spared  no  one  who  fell.  Percy  and  other 
officers,  even  the  hard-tempered  Moorcastle,  strove  in 
vain  to  restrain  the  embittered  soldiers. 

The  bridge  at  Cambridge  had  been  taken  up,  and 


Captain   Moorcastle  and  Private  Farnlee   129 

this  enforced  a  long  detour  by  way  of  Charlestown. 
It  was  a  continuous  combat  with  swarms  of  militiamen 
from  Roxbury,  Dorchester,  Milton,  and  other  neigh- 
boring townships.  A  fierce  skirmish  at  Prospect  Hill, 
the  flashes  of  the  guns  showing  red  through  the 
gathering  night,  ended  this  first  battle-day  of  the 
American  Revolution. 

Heath  forbade  farther  pursuit  lest  the  British  should 
burn  Charlestown;  and  Percy's  exhausted  men  stum- 
bled on  in  peace  to  Bunker  Hill,  where  they  went  into 
bivouac.  They  had  lost  sixty-five  killed,  one  hun- 
dred and  eighty  wounded,  and  twenty-eight  unhurt 
prisoners,  in  all  two  hundred  and  seventy-three.  In 
return  they  had  wounded  thirty-nine  provincials  and 
killed  forty-nine. 

Ash  Farnlee,  too  tired  to  return  home,  passed  the 
night  with  Abner  Sly.  Even  Abner  was  so  far  worn 
out  that  he  could  not  relate  half  his  deeds  of  daring  to 
his  amazed  and  delighted  wife. 

Tell    ye   'beout   it   in  the  mornin',"   he  yawned. 

Tell  ye  'beout  it  all  the  rest  of  my  life.  Jest  now  I 
want  to  lay  off  and  dream  'beout  it.  Never  had  such 
fun  before  sence  I  was  born." 

Squire  Farnlee,  we  must  explain,  had  halted  at 
Lexington,  and  taken  to  his  bed  with  a  mustard  poul- 
tice on  his  chest,  a  nearly  exhausted  and  altogether 

voiceless  old  warrior. 
9 


CHAPTER    XIII 

A    WORRIED    MAJOR-GENERAL 

THE  moment  Percy's  column  ceased  its  long  battle, 
Captain  Moorcastle  galloped  down  to  the  Charles- 
town  ferry,  got  himself  over  to  Boston  as  promptly  as 
possible,  and  hurried  to  Gage's  headquarters. 

His  Excellency  did  not  look  like  a  great  man  as  he 
listened  to  the  rapid  verbal  report  of  his  clever  staff- 
officer;  he  looked  like  an  emphatically  common-sized 
man  whose  only  great  emotion  was  a  vast  perplexity 
bordering  upon  fright.  He  strode  up  and  down  the 
room  in  his  big,  shiny,  creaking  boots,  taking  the 
short  steps  and  sudden  turns  of  a  man  whose  muscles 
mechanically  obey  the  vacillations  of  a  flurried  spirit, 
and  glancing  occasionally  at  his  hard-browed  subordi- 
nate with  an  air  of  demanding  mercy. 

"  Good  Ged  !  "  he  broke  out  at  last.  **  Nearly  three 
hundred  men  lost !  Oh  no,  Moorcastle !  not  so  bad  as 
that !  Why,  good  Ged  !  what  does  it  mean  ?  Could  n't 
Smith  keep  those  fellows  off  better  than  that  ?  But 
the  troops  fought,  of  course ;  they  behaved  themselves, 
I  hope." 

"  Why,  yes;  of  course.  But  you  know  how  things 
go.  General,  in  a — in  a — retreat ;  after  all,  it  was  a  kind 
of  retreat.  And  a  retreat  under  fire — you  know  it  's 
an  awkward  business." 

130 


A  Worried  Major-General  131 

**  Yes,  yes,  I  know — doosid  strain  on  discipline," 
groaned  the  General,  who  really  did  know,  for  he  had 
been  in  Braddock's  defeat. 

"  And  naturally  there  was  at  times  a  little  confu- 
sion," pursued  Moorcastle.  **  I  am  sorry  to  inform 
your  Excellency  that  we  must  have  lost  twenty  or 
thirty  prisoners." 

"Prisoners? — the  devil!"  roared  the  General. 
**  You  don't  think  so,  Caotain.  There  '11  be  a  doose 
of  a  hullabaloo  about  that  in  England.  Those  fellows 
in  Parliament — Chatham  and  Barre  and  their  gang — 
will  make  a  doose  of  an  uproar.  I  would  n't  care  so 
much  about  them — a  pack  of  loud-mouthed  malignants! 
— hopelessly  out  of  power.  But  what  will  headquarters 
say  ?  British  troops  surrendering  to  a  flock  of  rebel 
rustics!  Why,  good  Ged !  good  Ged !  good  Ged ! 
They  ought  to  have  used  their  bayonets,  demmit!  " 

**  So  they  did.  General — when  they  had  a  chance. 
But  a  rifle-ball  is  sometimes  longer  than  a  bayonet. 
Oh,  there  's  nothing  to  be  said  against  the  men;  they 
fought  as  well  as  they  could — under  the  circumstances. 

"  The  circumstances  ?  "  demanded  Gage,  facing 
about  upon  him.     "  Who  was  in  fault,  then  ?  " 

He  was  in  such  a  rage  and  worry  that  the  cool- 
headed,  cynical  aid-de-camp  could  hardly  forbear 
smiling  in  his  face. 

"The  ambuscades,  General,"  he  replied;  "the 
marksmanship ;  the — the  Yankees,  in  short.  Those 
fellows  went  at  us  a  great  deal  more  stoutly  than  we 
could  have  expected.  Why,  they  fought  us  muzzle  to 
muzzle,  over  there  at  Cambridge.  And  it  was  a  long 
march  to  make  under  fire.  It  could  n't  help  being  a 
tough  day's  work." 


132  A  Lover's  Revolt 

The  bothered  General  began  to  justify  himself  for 
his  expedition,  as  though  his  aid-de-camp  were  the 
War  Office,  or  a  commission  of  ParHament.  In  reahty, 
he  was  talking  to  his  own  military  conscience,  rather 
than  to  Moorcastle. 

**  /am  not  to  blame  for  all  this,"  he  half  complained 
and  half  scolded.  '*/did  n't  want  any  fighting.  Who'd 
have  thought  that  an  old  fellow  like  Pitcairn — a  man 
with  eleven  children  and  one  at  the  breast,  like  John 
Rogers — who  'd  have  thought  he  'd  be  so  dem'd  in- 
judicious and  violent — so  wanting  in  patience  and  con- 
duct ?  Why,  he  could  have  sent  those  poor  peasants 
home  with  a  few  soft  words.  He  ought  to  have  made 
a  nice  little  speech;  summoned  the  nearest  justice; 
had  the  Riot  Act  read ;  all  that  sort  of  rubbish.  And 
here  he  gallops  up  to  them  bellowing,  '  Rebels,  dis- 
perse!' Of  course  a  man  rolls  up  his  sleeves  when 
you  challenge  him  to.  And  of  course,  too,  the 
soldiers  thought  they  had  business  on  hand." 

"'Rebels,  disperse!'"  repeated  the  General  in 
disgust.  **  Why,  he  might  as  well  have  ordered, 
Fire!'  at  once;  yes  indeed!  Of  course  I  can't  let 
Pitcairn  be  trounced  for  this;  he  's  a  noble  old  fellow, 
and  an  excellent  officer,  demmit ;  but  I  do  wish  he 
had  shown  more  common  sense.  And  now,  as  to  the 
column  being  too  feeble  for  the  business,  I  could  n't 
order  out  the  whole  garrison  of  Boston,  begad.  Here 
those  fellows  in  London  want  me  to  seize  the  stores — 
sniff  at  me  because  I  don't  seize  the  stores — and  fur- 
nish me  nothing  to  do  it  with.  Skeleton  regiments! — 
not  a  battalion  on  the  station  that  musters  four  hun- 
dred men  for  duty !  and  yet  I  must  send  expeditions 
through    howling   wildernesses   of  Yankee   marksmen 


A  Worried  Major-General  133, 

after  barrels  of  wooden  spoons !  So  here  we  are,  as  a 
consequence,  in  a  state  of  war — open  war !  And  every- 
body will  denounce  me  as  the  author  of  it.  What  did 
they  send  me  here  for  ?  /did  n't  want  to  take  charge 
of  these  dem'd,  obstinate,  pragmatical,  hair-splitting, 
lawing,  rebellious,  Down-East  Yankees,  demmem ! 
What  does  a  good  officer  know  about  politics  ?  I  wish 
there  was  no  law  in  the  British  dominions  and  posses- 
sions but  the  Mutiny  Act.  Then  an  honest,  well- 
meaning  soldier  could  see  his  way  clear." 

The  General  was  really  miserable  under  his  load  of 
complex  responsibilities.  He  could  not  help  unbosom- 
ing himself  to  his  favorite  staff-officer,  and  soliciting, 
so  to  speak,  his  sympathy  and  pity.  He  had  been  a 
despot  in  Boston,  but  not  by  disposition  nor  under- 
standingly.  He  had  tyrannized  simply  because  he 
was  a  trained  old  soldier,  and  felt  bound  to  carry  out 
orders  from  the  home  government,  no  matter  how  un- 
wise they  might  be.  The  thing  that  he  dreaded  most 
on  earth,  the  one  thing  that  he  regarded  with  senti- 
ments of  abject  terror,  was  the  censure  of  his  military 
superiors  and  especially  of  the  War  Office.  And  now, 
would  the  affair  of  Concord  bring  him  censure  ?  or 
would  it  bring  him  approbation  and  promotion  ?  He 
thought  more  of  that  question  than  of  the  dead  and 
wounded,  whether  American  or  British. 

"  Well,  Captain,"  he  continued,  resuming  the  tone 
of  a  commander-in-chief,  "  all  this  must   be  written 

out   and   sent   home.     Tell  the  post-adjutant  I  want 

h.      > » 
im. 

"  Any  orders  with  regard  to  movements  ?  "  the  aid 

ventured  to  enquire. 

• '  No ! !  "  bawled  the  General,  relaxing  into  his  extra- 


134  A  Lover's  Revolt 

official  excitement.  "  Not  a  man  shall  put  his  nose 
outside  the  lines  till  I  have  more  troops.  That  's  the 
first  thing  I  mean  to  write  to  headquarters.  I  want 
re-enforcements,  begad!  " 

And  he  hammered  on  his  writing-table  with  such 
force  as  to  startle  the  leaden  inkstand  into  kicking  off 
its  accoutrement  of  quill  pens. 

It  was  very  late  that  night  before  Moorcastle  got  to 
bed.  The  General  was  as  restless  as  a  fever  patient, 
and  sent  for  him  a  dozen  times  to  ask  questions,  and 
to  repeat  them.  Were  Percy's  men  bivouacked  in 
order  of  battle,  and  pickets  out  ?  Was  there  any 
straggling  about  Charlestown  ?  Of  course  Percy  was 
a  splendid  officer  and  meant  to  keep  the  men  straight ; 
but  then  Percy  was  so  cursedly  good-natured  and  soft- 
hearted! By  Jupiter,  every  man  should  be  catted  in 
the  morning  who  did  n't  go  to  bed  that  night  and  rest 
himself.  Were  the  wounded  all  brought  over  ?  Did 
anybody  really  know  that  the  wounded  were  over  ? 
Did  anybody  under  God's  heaven  know  it  ?  Was 
there  a  guard-reserve  on  Charlestown  Neck  ?  Had  the 
guard  been  doubled  on  Boston  Neck  ?  Where  in  the 
name  of  everything  holy  was  that  chief  engineer  ? 
Where  the  Old  Harry  was  that  communication  from 
the  admiral  ?     And  so  on  till  long  past  midnight. 

The  General,  like  many  another  worried  commander, 
was  very  hard  on  his  staff-officers,  especially  those 
whom  he  most  trusted.  Even  after  Moorcastle  had 
gone  to  bed,  he  was  awakened  and  summoned  back  to 
headquarters,  rubbing  his  eyes  to  keep  them  open.  But 
by  the  time  he  appeared,  his  chief  had  forgotten  what 
he  wanted,  and  stared  at  him  in  surprise,  with  a  pepper- 
ing of  indignation  at  being  disturbed  by  a  question. 


A  Worried  Major-General  135 

"  Oh,  demmit,  yes,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  feeble, 
high-pitched  voice,  as  though  he  were  about  to  cry. 
"  But,  demmit,  you  've  been  so  long  coming,  I  believe 
somebody  else  has  attended  to  it.  Go  along  to  bed. 
If  I  want  you,  I  '11  send  for  you." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  thought  Moorcastle,  and 
stumbled  back  to  his  dormitory,  to  be  banged  up  at  six 
the  next  morning  and  hurried  off  to  look  for  the  ad- 
miral or  some  other  mislaid  article  of  warfare.  One 
can  perceive  that  his  time  and  his  energies  were  pretty 
smartly  occupied.  And  meanwhile  Huldah  Oakbridge 
was  marvelling  that  he  did  not  come  to  see  her,  and 
shedding  tears  of  wounded  love,  or  of  wounded  vanity, 
over  his  neglectfulness. 

During  all  that  day  after  the  battle  he  hardly  called 
her  to  mind.  When  he  was  not  attending  to  official 
business,  he  was  chatting  about  the  fighting  with 
officers  who  had  been  in  it,  or  rehearsing  it  to  officers 
who  had  been  out  of  it.  It  must  be  stated,  if  only  to 
depict  his  character,  that  he  did  not  flatter  these 
gentlemen's  prejudices  or  conceit.  With  all  his  arro- 
gance, and  partly  no  doubt  because  of  his  arrogance,  he 
was  a  hard-headed,  clear-eyed  creature,  who  dared  to 
see  a  thing  for  himself  and  to  describe  it  as  he  saw  it. 
Moreover,  he  rather  liked  to  contradict  people,  espe- 
cially self-satisfied  people. 

"  I  have  changed  my  opinion  of  those  beggars,"  he 
said  in  his  harsh,  ringing  voice  to  a  puffy  old  colonel, 
the  chief  quartermaster  of  the  garrison.  "  If  they  had 
any  drill  or  discipline,  they  would  be  good  soldiers; 
and  as  it  is,  they  are  very  formidable  as  light  troops  in 
a  wooded  country.  They  outshoot  our  fellows  all 
hollow,  and  that  's  a  devil  of  an  advantage." 


136  A  Lovers  Revolt 

"  But  have  they  any  pluck  ?  "  swelled  and  snorted 
the  quartermaster,  who  had  never  seen  a  fight  except 
from  the  baggage  train.  **  Have  they  anything  simi- 
lar to  British  pluck  ?  Could  they  stand  up  to  the  bay- 
onet? Of  course,  as  you  say,  they  are  not  drilled.  But 
demme,  sir,  you  may  drill  a  Frenchy  till  he  's  green, 
and  he  can't  stand  up  to  the  bayonet.  No  pluck  at 
the  bottom,  Captain ;  no  British  pluck.  And  I  fancy 
it  's  just  the  same  with  these — aw — these  dem'd  cod- 
fishing,  pumkin-eating  Yankees." 

"  Sweet  delusion.  Colonel,"  grinned  Moorcastle, 
with  the  sub-acid  contempt  of  fighting  officers  for 
habitual  quartermasters.  "  They  hunted  us  and  pep- 
pered us  till  we  were  every  one  of  us  doosid  glad  to 
have  them  leave  it  off.  I  fear  they  are  going  to  make 
us  a  great  deal  of  trouble  before  we  get  through  with 
them." 

"  You  don't  really  mean  it,  Captain!  "  stared  the 
colonel,  and  strutted  away  to  look  for  a  more  agree- 
able story-teller. 

It  was  late  evening  now,  and  Moorcastle  went  to  his 
lodgings.  There  he  read  for  a  while  in  the  well- 
thumbed  volumes  of  his  military  library,  for  he  was  an 
unusually  zealous  man  in  his  profession,  and  wanted 
to  become  an  eminent  commander.  Presently  he  fell 
to  thinking  over  the  fighting  of  the  day  before,  and 
querying  whether  it  could  have  been  managed  any 
better  than  Percy  had  managed  it.  But  before  he  had 
decided  this  tactical  problem,  his  memory  turned  to 
that  curious  scene  of  temporary  captivity  in  the  barn- 
yard alley. 

**  It  was  a  blazing  silly  rush  of  mine,"  he  reflected. 
"  And  it  came  near  costing  me  something — either  life, 


A  Worried  Major-General  137 

or  liberty,  or  a  horse.  Why  the  what  's-his-name 
did  n't  that  fellow  shoot  me?  He  wanted  to.  I  could 
see  it  in  his  face ;  he  perfectly  hated  me.  And  what 
did  he  order  me  to  dismount  for  ?  That  saved  my 
life.  Did  he  see  that  the  other  beggar  was  aiming  at 
me  ?  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  can  make  anything  out  of  it 
but  this,  that  he  had  n't  time  to  run  me  off  as  a 
prisoner,  and  could  n't  muster  the  nerve  to  murder 
me.  I  owe  him  a  good  turn;  and  I  'd  like  to  settle  it 
— of  course!  " 

The  Captain  stuck  out  his  lips  with  a  pensive  and 
slightly  discontented  expression.  It  was  rather  humili- 
ating, by  Jove  and  the  rest  of  them,  to  be  under  such 
obligations  to  a  provincial  and  a  rebel.  He  scowled 
as  he  thought  of  it ;  he  would  have  been  pleased  to  pay 
the  debt  at  once — pay  it  in  guineas,  demmit,  and  get 
rid  of  it. 

Then  in  a  random  way,  and  mainly  because  he  was 
a  very  masculine  male,  he  called  to  mind  that  other 
provincial,  that  little  yellow-headed  thing,  that  Huldah. 
What  a  darling,  fresh  little  posy  she  was,  and  how 
sweetly  she  had  let  him  steal  that  kiss!  He  must  go 
and  see  her  (a  yawn),  and  kiss  her  again  (another 
yawn),  and  the  rest  of  it. 

But  of  a  sudden  an  idea  came  into  his  head  which 
made  him  open  his  eyes  wide  and  send  forth  a  thought- 
ful whistle.  Was  there,  perhaps,  something  serious — 
something  in  the  wedding-ring  line — between  that  gal 
and  the  Lexington  fellow  ?  She  had  made  believe  not  ; 
but  then  women  will  He  so! — especially  when  they  're 
after  a  man ! 

And  could  the  affair  be  made  up,  now  that  she  had 
been  kissed  by  an  Englishman,  and  the  American  had 


138  A   Lovers  Revolt 

seen  it  ?  Oh,  that  would  n't  hinder;  these  colonists 
were  probably  not  very  sensitive  in  their  love-makings ; 
and  if  he,  Moorcastle,  should  drop  the  gal  for  good, 
her  rustic  would  canter  back  to  her.  Well,  he  would 
be  honorable,  dem'd  honorable  and  dev'hsh  consider- 
ate, about  it.  He  would  n't  tumble  the  gal  again 
until  he  knew  for  sure  that  there  was  nothing  serious 
between  her  and  the  Lexington  fellow. 

To  the  Yankee  damsel  herself — to  the  question 
whether  he  should  make  her  happy  or  miserable — this 
Englishman  of  a  hundred  years  ago,  this  sinister  de- 
scendant of  royalty,  gave  not  a  serious  thought.  He 
could  be  anxious  as  to  his  own  honor  and  self-respect, 
but  not  as  to  the  honor  and  self-respect  of  a  Boston 
merchant's  daughter.  We  Americans  were  provincials ; 
we  were  a  low-caste  rabble  in  the  eyes  of  the  brahmins 
of  the  mother  country;  we  were  welcome  to  lick  their 
boots,  but  we  must  look  out  for  our  own  noses. 
**  Even  the  street-sweepers  of  London,"  said  Chatham, 
**  talk  about  our  subjects  in  America.''  Is  it  any 
wonder  that  the  legal  revolt  of  Farnlee  senior  was 
taken  up  and  pushed  to  the  bitter  end  by  the  social 
revolt  of  Farnlee  junior  ? 

Several  days  passed  before  Moorcastle  thought  again 
of  Huldah.  Extraordinary  tidings  disquieted  head- 
quarters, and  General  Gage  kept  his  retinue  breathlessly 
busy. 

Hard-riding  Tories,  spattered  with  April  mud,  or 
perhaps  arrayed  in  tar  and  feathers — loud-shrieking 
birds  of  evil  omen — flapped  in  from  all  quarters  with 
reiterated  announcement  that  the  march  to  Concord 
had  stirred  up  Antichrist,  and  that  not  only  Massa- 
chusetts but  all  New  England  was  in  rebellion.     Ten 


A  Worried  Major-General  139 

thousand,  fifteen  thousand,  nobody  knew  how  many 
thousand,  armed  Yankees  were  trooping  in  squads,  in 
companies,  in  battalions,  toward  Boston. 

Erelong  a  camp  stretched  from  Mystic  River  to 
Roxbury,  exhibiting  by  day  a  vast  semicircle  of  huts 
and  tents,  and  by  night  bonfires  as  numerous  as  the 
stars.  On  a  dozen  hills  there  was  a  hasty  throwing  up 
of  rude  breastworks  and  a  planting  of  venerable  iron 
cannon  or  of  wooden  quakers.  General  Ward  was  in 
command,  supported  by  Generals  Pomeroy  and  Put- 
nam, all  three  veterans  of  the  Seven  Years  War. 

As  a  loyal  Briton  Gage  was  horrified,  and  as  a  judi- 
cious old  soldier  he  was  scared.  Since  the  Concord 
affair  he  had  completely  and  forever  left  off  despising 
Yankeedom  as  a  military  quantity.  Far  from  attack- 
ing the  rebel  lines,  he  scarcely  hoped  to  hold  Boston. 
The  peninsula  of  Charlestown,  within  grape-shot  range 
of  his  own  lodgings,  was  abandoned ;  and  not  a  soldier 
was  allowed  to  step  outside  the  Barrier,  except  on 
picket-duty,  or  to  work  at  throwing  up  exterior  de- 
fences. 

To  make  the  Yankees  believe  that  re-enforcements 
were  arriving,  transports  were  towed  out  to  sea  after 
bedtime,  and  sailed  in  next  morning  after  breakfast. 
Every  few  days,  by  every  packet  that  went  to  London 
or  Halifax,  his  Excellency  wrote  for  more  troops.  His 
staff  got  jaded  to  the  bone  with  scratching  paper,  peer- 
ing through  spy-glasses,  visiting  posts,  inspecting 
islands,  rowing  after  the  admiral,  and  making  reports. 
There  never  was  a  more  pitiable  case  of  a  small  hero 
in  a  monstrous  funk.  If  he  had  not  been  as  afraid  as 
death  of  the  War  Office,  he  would  have  hustled  his 
army  aboard  ship  and  left  Boston  to  the  rebels. 


140  A   Lover's   Revolt 

"  By  Jupiter!  "  he  would  grumble,  "  /don't  want 
to  lose  all  these  troops;  /don't  want  to  lose  my  repu- 
tation as  a  soldier.  The  place  is  n't  tenable, — with 
this  garrison.  If  the  Yankees  only  knew  their  own 
strength,  they  'd  pitch  us  out  of  it  in  twenty-four 
hours.  And  then  those  fellows  in  London  would  make 
a  scapegoat  of  ;;/^.  That 's  the  way  in  the  army.  Never 
half  men  enough;  do  the  impossible;  use  the  British 
bayonet;  whip  all  creation,  or  off  goes  your  head!  " 

But  Moorcastle,  a  hard-hearted,  able  youngster,  his 
nerves  as  yet  unshaken  by  the  responsibilities  of  com- 
mand, could  not  fully  appreciate  and  compassionate 
the  troubles  of  his  chief. 

"  That  's  a  pretty  state  of  mind  for  a  veteran 
officer!  "  he  thought — "  a  pretty  state  of  mind  for  a 
born  gentleman,  the  son  of  a  viscount!  I  wish  to 
heaven  the  War  Office  would  send  us  the  re-enforce- 
ment of  a  general.  If  we  were  only  on  good  terms 
with  Sparta,  and  could  borrow  Xantippus,  or  Gylip- 
pus,  or  Brasidas!  " 


CHAPTER   XIV 

ROUGH   GOING   FOR   TRUE    LOVE 

DESOLATE    Boston,    with    war    thus    gathering 
around  it,  became  more  desolate  than  ever. 

The  daily  business  ceased  to  earn  the  mere  bare, 
stinted  necessaries  of  life.  So  numerous  were  the  beg- 
gars that  they  sacked  many  abandoned  buildings,  and, 
but  for  armed  guards,  would  have  sacked  the  town. 
Hundreds  of  families  obtained  passes,  shut  up  their 
houses  and  shops,  and  streamed  away  to  the  surround- 
ing villages.  The  population,  sixteen  thousand  a  year 
since,  descended  to  five  or  six  thousand,  mainly  verg- 
ing toward  pauperism. 

The  father  and  mother  of  Ash  Farnlee's  false  love 
had  serious  thoughts  of  flying  from  their  beleaguered 
Jerusalem.  Mrs.  Oakbridge  wanted  to  go  because 
she  was  at  heart  a  rebel,  or  in  Whiggish  language,  a 
patriot.  Her  husband,  though  born  a  moderate,  and 
averse  as  2,  pater  f ami  lias  to  whatever  politics  injured 
business,  did  at  least  desire  to  find  a  spot  where  he 
might  earn  a  subsistence. 

"  Yes,  Dorothy,  we  might  as  well  quit,"  he  con- 
ceded. "  This  Concord  fight  has  killed  trade  stone 
dead.      I  guess  you  're  right;  we  'd  better  quit." 

But  here  a  dissentient  bellow  shattered  through  the 
dialogue.     The  door  into  the  rear  hall  was  open,  and 

141 


142  A  Lover's  Revolt 

so  was  the  opposite  door  into  the  ground-floor  bed- 
room. In  that  bedroom  lay  Uncle  Fenn,  a  sick  man 
ever  since  the  Concord  affair,  and  more  snappish  than 
even  a  sick  man  has  a  right  to  be,  unless  he  is  rich. 

The  outbreak  of  the  Revolution  had  nearly  killed 
the  worthy,  sensitive,  petulant,  sexagenarian  loyalist. 
The  anointed  of  the  Lord  openly  defied ! — our  Gracious 
Majesty's  lobsters  hunted  and  slugged  for  twenty 
miles  on  end  by  traitors! — three  hundred  Englishmen, 
the  objects  of  one's  adoration,  killed  or  captured  by 
mere  provincials! — the  devout  old  Tory  took  it  a  great 
deal  harder  than  General  Gage  himself.  He  came 
home  from  hearing  the  dreadful  particulars  with  ashes 
on  his  head  and  gout  in  his  stomach.  He  could  not 
be  got  upstairs,  and  was  tucked  hastily  away  in  his 
brother's  bedroom,  where  he  had  lain  ever  since,  pray- 
ing, and  whimpering,  and  snapping. 

"  I  won't  go,  Jehiel,"  he  now  shouted.  "  Never! 
never!  so  help  me  Heaven!  Never  will  I  join  myself 
unto  the  tabernacle  of  those  sons  of  treason." 

"  Timothy,"  said  Oakbridge,  in  his  conciliatory  mer- 
cantile voice,  "  you  'd  be  a  deal  safer  and  quieter  out 
in  the  country." 

*'  I  should  n't,"  wailed  Timothy.  "  There  is  no 
safety  in  the  tents  of  Dathan  and  Abiram.  The  Lord's 
vengeance  will  descend  upon  them  and  upon  all  who 
seek  unto  them.  And  I  would  n't  be  quiet.  I  would 
denounce  them  every  day ;  yea,  every  hour  would  I 
cry  out  against  them;  so  help  me  Heaven!  " 

"  I  guess  he  would,"  Oakbridge  grumbled  indig- 
nantly ;  but  his  wife  put  her  thin  hand  over  his  mouth. 

"  So  help  me  Heaven!  so  help  me  Heaven!  "  Uncle 
Fenn  continued  to  bawl,  in  his  hysterical  excitement. 


Rough  Going  for  True   Love  143 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  him!  "  whispered  Mrs. 
Oakbridge  in  meek  despair.  "  He  won't  go;  and 
how  can  we  stay  ?  " 

Her  husband  leaned  back  in  his  chair  in  order  to  get 
an  easier  shot  into  the  bedroom.  "  But,  Timothy,  I 
am  just  running  to  poverty  here,"  he  argued.  "  If  I 
was  out  in  the  country — say  at  Northampton,  with 
our  eldest — I  could  start  a  new  business  and  get  bread. ' ' 

"  Oh,  leave  me — leave  me!  "  scoffed  and  whimpered 
Uncle  Fenn.  **  Throw  me  into  the  gutter;  send  me 
to  the  hospital.  I  'd  rather  die  with  those  poor  soldiers 
— the  suffering  servants  of  my  rightful  king — than  live 
in  palaces  of  rebellion." 

Nevermind  answering  him,  Jehiel,"  whispered  the 
wife.  **  We  might  leave  him  with  John.  Ann  is  be- 
witched upon  staying  here,  and  I  suppose  John  will 
give  in  to  her,  as  usual.  Ann  has  the  same  opinions 
with  brother,  and  would  be  sure  to  take  nice  care  of 
him.     You,  and  I,  and  Huldah  could  go." 

**  Yes,    and   we    will  go,"    mumbled    Oakbridge. 

Once  I  'm  at  Northampton  with  our  Ezra,  I  can  set 
to  work  again,  and  live  along." 

Uncle  Fenn,  raised  on  one  shaking  elbow,  was  heark- 
ening with  both  ears,  but  could  hear  nothing.  "  I 
don't  know  what  you  are  muttering,"  he  whimpered. 

But  I  know  it  's  not  right ;  I  know  it  's  rebellion  and 
treason;  I  know  it  just  as  well  as  if  I  heard  it." 

Then  he  broke  out  in  a  wonderful,  woeful  medley  of 
prayers,  comminations,  and  complaints,  addressed  al- 
ternately to  Heaven,  to  Brother  Jehiel,  and  to  himself. 
If  he  could  but  depart  and  be  with  his  God,  beyond 
reach  of  the  children  of  unlawfulness  and  violence! 
Oh  that  the  Mighty  One  would  rend  the  skies,   and 


144  A  Lover's  Revolt 

come  down  to  the  help  of  the  dear  old  mother  country ! 
Men  would  yet  see  it ;  they  would  see  the  king  crowned 
with  wisdom  and  his  sceptre  wreathed  with  power; 
they  would  see  the  counsels  of  the  wicked  brought  to 
naught.  "  Spare  not  Absalom,  nor  yet  cursing 
Shimei!"  gasped  the  suffering,  half-crazed  invalid. 
"  Visit  them  with  defeat  and  castigation,  though  it 
break  our  hearts  with  mourning." 

Mrs.  Oakbridge,  her  head  bowed  and  her  hands 
clasped,  listened  in  a  kind  of  horror  to  the  ravings  of 
this  pitiable  old  torment  of  a  saint. 

"  We  won't  fling  back  at  him,"  muttered  Oakbridge, 
as  though  there  were  any  danger  of  his  wife's  doing 
it.  "  When  a  minister  goes  mad,  he  's  madder  than 
any  other  kind  of  human,  or  four-legged  creetur  either. 
But  I  don't  really  see,  Dorothy,  how  we  can  leave 
him." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Mrs.  Oakbridge  had 
plenty  of  time  to  pray  within  herself  for  help  and 
direction.  At  last,  with  a  plaintive  smile  which 
begged  for  a  word  in  favor  of  departure,  she  turned  to 
her  daughter  and  murmured,  **  Huldah,  what  do  you 
say  ? 

The  girl  had  been  present  through  the  whole  scene, 
knitting  in  silence,  twitching  her  yarn  off  the  ball  from 
time  to  time,  and  biting  her  under  lip  moodily.  Now 
she  pinched  her  lips  together,  drew  a  deep  breath  as  if 
about  to  speak,  and  yet  said  not  a  word.  Pretty  as 
kind  nature  had  made  her,  she  was  not  at  this  moment 
an  agreeable  spectacle.  There  was  a  half-piteous,  half- 
sulky  droop  at  the  corners  of  her  rosy  mouth,  and  she 
was  evidentlv  on  the  tremulous  verge  of  a  fit  of  angry 
crying. 


Rough  Going  for  True   Love  145 

It  must  be  understood  that  ]\Ioorcastle  had  not  been 
to  the  house  since  the  brief  and  formal  call  of  digestion 
which  had  followed  the  dinner.  She  knew,  of  course, 
that  he  had  been  busy ;  she  knew  that  his  life  had  been 
in  peril  on  the  battle-field ;  but,  all  the  same,  he  ought 
to  have  come  again  to  see  her;  he  ought  to  have  come 
every  day;  for  she  wanted  him  to.  What  a  reception 
she  had  got  up  for  him  in  the  cloud-castles  of  her  im- 
agination !  She  had  pictured  herself  as  falling  into  his 
arms,  weeping  happy  tears  over  his  dangers  and  his 
safe  return,  and  winning  his  noble  heart  and  hand  with 
her  tenderness. 

And  then,  with  all  that  to  draw  him — for  it  seemed 
to  her  that  he  must  know  it — he  had  not  come.  Other 
officers — two  or  three,  at  any  rate — had  got  engaged 
just  before  they  went  off  to  the  fight,  or  on  the  very  day 
after  it.  But  this  man,  the  man  whom  she  had  so 
favored,  had  not  been  near  her,  one  of  the  prettiest 
girls  in  Boston.  She  was  angry  enough  to  want  to 
punish  him  by  turning  patriot  again ;  but — but — how 
could  she  quit  Boston  and  so  lose  sight  of  him  forever  ? 

"I  d'  know  what  to  think,"  she  answered  her 
mother  in  a  gasping  whisper,  jerking  at  her  knitting 
so  petulantly  as  to  snap  the  yarn.  Perhaps  the  broken 
thread  seemed  to  her  an  evil  omen,  or  perhaps  the 
trivial  mishap  was  just  sufficient  to  brim  over  her  cup 
of  grief,  for  a  sudden  quivering  distorted  her  lips,  and, 
violently  pushing  back  her  low  chair,  she  ran  upstairs 
and  slammed  her  bedroom  door  upon  herself. 

Ah,  this  love-making!  It  may  be  fun — a  very 
breathless  fun — when  it  is  lucky.  But  sometimes  it  is 
too  much  like  the  fun  that  a  wild  animal  has  in  being 
hunted  and  wounded. 


146  A  Lovers  Revolt 

Huldy  seems  all  upset  these  days,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Oakbridge,  with  the  patient  non-committalism  of 
a  mother  who  suspects  that  her  daughter's  outbursts 
of  emotion  relate  to  a  trouble  of  the  heart. 

"  She  did  n't  treat  Ash  right,"  said  Oakbridge.  "  I 
dessay  she  's  repenting  of  it." 

This  manlike  simplicity  was  too  simple  for  Mrs. 
Oakbridge  to  put  up  with  in  silence.  "  Then  why 
don't  she  go  into  the  country  where  he  is  ?  "  she  de- 
manded.    "  I  'm  afraid  it  ain't  Ash  Farnlee " 

But  here  she  was  interrupted.  Uncle  Fenn,  hearken- 
ing with  the  acute  senses  of  invalidism,  caught  the 
name  of   Farnlee.     "  He  's   a  traitor,"   he  shouted. 

Mistress  Yerksum  told  me  about  him  yesterday. 
He  was  seen  leading  the  rebels  at  Metonomy.  He  's 
a  bloody-handed  traitor." 

During  the  delivery  of  this  speech,  the  wife  of  John 
Oakbridge  bustled  into  the  kitchen.  Sister  Ann  was 
the  same  wholesome  and  not  unhandsome  specimen  of 
womanhood  that  we  have  seen  her  heretofore.  A  week 
of  civil  war,  a  week  of  burning  indignation  against 
those  ambushing  provincials,  had  not  consumed  an 
ounce  of  her  British  solidity  and  might,  nor  faded  the 
full-blown  roses  of  her  cheeks. 

"  Who  's  a  traitor.  Mother  Oakbridge  ?  "  she  asked 
in  her  healthy,  ringing  voice. 

"  Ash  Farnlee,"  bellowed  Uncle  Fenn.  "  Every- 
body here  is.  Treason  is  in  the  air.  Jehiel  wants  to 
join  the  rebels — wants  to  get  inside  their  lines — wants 
to  flee  from  his  king,  as  Jonah  fled  from  the  Lord." 

Sister  Ann,  despite  her  ballast  of  brawn,  was  so 
shaken  by  this  news  that  she  lost  her  grip  on  her 
aspirates.     "  Were  's  'Uldah  ?  "  she  enquired  eagerly. 


Rough  Going  for  True  Love  147 

Huldy  is  dreadfully  upset  these  days,"  sighed 
Mrs.  Oakbridge,  gesturing  with  her  head  toward  the 
hall  and  stairway. 

Sister  Ann  hastened  aloft  and  pounded  on  the  girl's 
door. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  called  a  peevish  voice  from  within. 

It  's  me — Ann.  Lemme  in.  I  've  got  a  thing  or 
two  to  tell  you." 

The  door  swung  back  a  little,  and  there  was  a  truly 
pitiable  face,  the  bright  blue  eyes  reddened  and  the 
cheeks  swollen  with  crying. 

Ann  bumped  in,  closed  the  door  with  hasty  stealth, 
and  locked  it.     "  Of  course  you  're  mad,"  she  said. 
So  they  're  going  to  leave  Boston  ?     What  nonsense 
an'  trumpery!  " 

I  don't  care,"  snapped  the  desperate  Huldah. 

Why  then  you  never  '11  see  hijn  again — never! 
That  's  just  what  '11  'appen.     Now!  " 

I  don't  care,"  repeated  Huldah,  recommencing  to 
sob,  and  fanning  her  wet  face  with  her  handkerchief. 

You  ain't  ever  gone  back  to  Farnlee  ?"  gasped 
Ann.     *'  You  ain't  a-hankering  after  him  ?  " 

No  I  ain't,"  Huldah  declared.  "  I  don't  care  for 
anybody  nor  anything,"  she  added,  breaking  down 
anew  into  a  fit  of  tremulous  sobbing.  It  was  a  child- 
like, inarticulate  appeal  for  sympathy,  and  for  some 
word  of  encouragement,  if  such  a  word  were  discover- 
able in  this  hapless  universe. 

Sister  Ann's  womanly  heart  responded  to  the  love- 
lorn demand  for  consolation.  "  Oh — look  a'  here — say, 
now,"  she  urged,  patting  the  girl's  flossy  curls.  *'  Oh, 
what  lovely  angel  hair!  He  did  use  to  look  at  it  so! 
jus'  kep'  his  eyes  glued  to  it.     Say,  now — you  must  n't 


148  A  Lover's  Revolt 

be  chaffed  with  Captain  Moorksle;  he  *s  awful  put 
about  in  these  days,  don't  you  know  ?  That  's  where 
it  is.     Of  course  he  ain't  much  time  to  call." 

"  I  should  think  he  had  n't — a  whole  week!  And 
.when  he  came,  after  the  dinner " 

"  Oh,  don't  you  mind  that.  That  was  just  a  call  of 
ceremony;  of  course  he  was  formal,  and  a  bit  short." 

*'  He  looked  as  if  he  was  mad  to  think  that  Ash 

Farnlee  saw  him  when "     Huldah  could  not  finish 

the  sentence,  and  blushed  through  the  streaky  redness 
of  her  crying  fit. 

**  Yes,  I  know,"  nodded  Ann,  comprehending  that 
the  kiss  was  alluded  to.  "  But  I  don't  believe  he  cared 
a  rush.  And  as  for  his  not  being  devoted !  Well,  if 
you  'd  only  but  gone  with  him  to  the  door,  as  I  reek- 
mended  you  to " 

"  I  never  did  run  after  a  man  yet,"  said  Huldah, 
trying  to  bridle  proudly,  but  with  small  success. 

"  Oh,  igsackly — after  provincials,"  returned  the 
high-born  daughter  of  Highgate.  **  But  British  officers 
are  different ;  one  can't  be  so  uppish  with  them  ;  that's 
where  it  is.  Say,  now;  let  me  tell  you  ;  we  must  look 
after  him  a  bit.  I  've  just  lately  found  out  where 
you  can  be  sure  to  come  afoul  of  him  without  seeming 
igsackly  to  mean  it." 

"  Wh-a-t  ?  "  droned  Huldah,  looking  up  with  a 
piteous  hope,  her  tearful  face  all  unhidden. 

**  He  goes  every  day,  about  one  of  the  clock,  to 
lunch  at  the  Swan.  Now  we  can  be  nearabouts  there 
between  one  and  two,  don't  you  see  ?  And  meet  him 
as  it  were  by  accident,  don't  you  see  ?  And  then  it  '11 
all  depend  upon  his  manner,  don't  you  see  ?  That  's 
where  it  is.     His  manner  will  let  you  know  what  to 


Rough  Going  for  True  Love  149 

depend  upon ;  and  of  course  you  want  to  know,  before 
you  decide  upon  leaving  here.  It  's  just  only  fair  to 
him,  and  likewise  to  yourself." 

"  We-11, "  Huldah  meekly  assented.  A  week  of 
neglect  from  a  redcoat  had  taken  all  the  conceit  and 
pride  out  of  the  half-spoiled  little  colonial  belle.  She 
was  as  ready  to  humble  and  demean  herself  in  order 
to  catch  him  as  is  a  modern  American  belle  to  change 
her  religion  for  the  coronet  of  a  French  count  or  an 
Italian  marquis. 


CHAPTER  XV 


AN   EXPLANATION 


HULDAH  chanced  to  be  alone  when  she  met  her 
Captain.  What  a  moment  of  throbbing  fright 
was  that  in  which  she  saw  him  coming  towards  her 
along  a  narrow  street  where  they  could  not  possibly 
evade  each  other!  Ash  Farnlee  had  felt  no  such 
throttling  emotion  when  he  saw  the  English  muskets 
levelled  upon  him  at  Lexington. 

The  fact  is  that,  what  with  Sister  Ann's  intoxicating 
chatter,  and  the  dazzle  of  Moorcastle's  uniform  and 
grandeeism,  and  the  circumstance  that  he  had  been 
pointedly  attentive  and  then  neglectful,  the  girl  was 
bewitched  about  him.  Ash  Farnlee  had  been  so 
thoroughly  exorcised  from  her  heart  that  she  never 
recollected  him  except  to  be  displeased  by  the  recol- 
lection. From  morning  till  night  she  hardly  thought 
of  any  human  creature  but  this  gorgeous  Englishman 
who  had  seemed  to  promise  her  every  wish  of  her 
heart  with  that  lightly  given  kiss. 

And  now  he  was  coming  toward  her,  upborne  on  the 
glory  of  his  shining  boots,  like  a  god  travelling  on  a 
cloud.  Would  he  bow  coldly,  and  pass  by  on  the 
other  side  ?  Or  would  he  halt  and  take  her  hand  and 
grant  her  a  smile  ?  She  hardly  felt  her  feet  under  her, 
and  her  eyes  had  a  tremulous  wandering  glitter,  and 
her  cheek  grew  paler  with  every  forward  step. 

150 


An   Explanation  151 

Moorcastle  behaved  with  the  automatic  courtesy  of 
a  man  thoroughly  broken  to  society.  He  lifted  his 
hat  high  above  his  powdered  head,  and  made  her  a 
gracious  bow  of  the  elaborate  sort  then  in  fashion,  and 
smiled  with  all  the  sweetness  that  his  wolfish  front 
teeth  would  permit.  But  then  suddenly  calling  to 
mind  that  fellow  at  Lexington,  he  avoided  taking  her 
hand.  All  the  same,  he  stood  with  body  bent,  and 
gold-laced  hat  held  aloft  between  thumb  and  finger,  as 
he  opened  the  dialogue;  all  the  same,  too,  he  had 
done  enough  to  fill  the  girl's  cheeks  with  color,  and  to 
make  her  eyes  coruscate  with  sparkles  of  happiness. 
One  is  so  glad  of  a  little  kindliness  when  one  has  longed 
for  much,  and  been  fearful  of  winning  none! 

Ah,  Miss  Oakbridge !  so  rejoiced  to  meet  you! 
really,  now.  I  have  wanted  to  excuse  myself  for  being 
such  a  stranger.  Been  desperately  occupied  with  pro- 
fessional business,  you  must  do  me  the  favor  to 
believe." 

"Oh!  yes  indeed!"  Huldah  gasped  with  a  wild 
beating  of  the  heart  which  revealed  itself  in  the  twitch- 
ing of  her  lips  and  the  shaking  of  her  voice.  "  I  am 
so  glad  you  escaped  from  that  dreadful  battle!  " 

Oh,  come  now!  'pon  honor,  you  ought  n't  to  flat- 
ter that  way,"  he  laughed  in  a  mincing  style  which  we 
should  now  call  affected.  "  Of  course  I  'm  greatly 
obliged  for  your  kind  interest ;  only,  with  regard  to 
the  fight,  it  was  n't  a  battle  at  all;  it  was  what  we  call 
a  skirmish." 

Oh!  but  you  must  have  been  in  great  danger!  " 
insisted  Huldah.  ''  I  kfiow  you  must  have  been  in 
such  dreadful  danger !  ' ' 

"  Well — aw — there  was  a  moment — a  rather  disagree- 


152  A  Lover's  Revolt 

able  moment,"  he  said  with  sudden  seriousness,  recall- 
ing to  mind  his  adventure  with  Farnlee.  He  settled 
his  wide-open,  trooperish  stare  on  her  for  a  moment, 
wondering  if  he  could  bring  it  about  to  ask  her  if  she 
were  betrothed  to  that  fellow.  But  he  did  not  see  his 
way  clear  to  the  question. 

"  I  ivas  in  one  rather  ugly  hole,"  he  resumed. 
"  But  I  got  out  of  it.  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of 
teUing  you  about  it  some  time." 

Then  he  meant  to  call  on  her  again !  The  idea  made 
Huldah  gasp  with  joy.  A  fortnight  previous — before 
she  had  gone  bewitched  about  this  dazzling  Englander 
— she  would  have  been  angry  with  herself  for  catching 
her  breath  so  like  a  pleased  baby. 

The  Captain  noted  the  gasp,  and  softened  toward 
her  a  little  more  than  he  had  purposed.  There  was  an 
expression  of  yearning  on  her  upturned,  tremulous 
lips,  which  he  could  not  quite  harden  himself  against. 
He  thought  of  a  kitten  on  the  outside  of  a  window, 
opening  its  coral  mouth  in  mute  application  to  be  let 
in.  To  refuse  to  let  in  this  panting  girl  was  indeed 
very  difficult. 

"  Ah,  I  say,  which  way  are  you  going  ?  "  he  stam- 
mered.    *'  I  might  step  along  with  you." 

"  I  was  going  home,"  returned  Huldah,  and  then 
blushed  intensely  over  the  unmeant  fib,  for  she  had 
merely  been  walking  to  and  fro  to  meet  him. 

"  Do  me  the  pleasure  to  allow  me,"  smirked  the 
Captain,  and  turned  with  her  toward  the  Oakbridge 
dwelling.  '  *  By  the  way, ' '  he  continued,  looking  down 
at  her  with  a  resolution  to  make  the  dialogue  formal  and 
far  removed  from  love-making,  "I — by  Jove!  what 
was  I  going  to  say  ?     Oh,  I  owe  you  another  apology." 


An  Explanation  153 

Huldah  guessed  that  he  was  going  to  apologize  for 
the  kiss;  and  it  seemed  to  her  that,  if  he  did,  she 
should  die  on  the  spot.  How  could  she  endure  a  re- 
gret over  it,  or  how  say  that  she  forgave  him  for  it, 
when  it  was  one  of  her  sweetest  recollections  ? 

I  spoke  rather  scornfully, ' '  he  began  in  a  lazy  tone, 
for  he  really  cared  little  about  the  matter — "  aw — it 
was  at  your  father's  table,  you  may  remember — not 
exactly  the  place  for  it — I  spoke  rather  sneeringly  of 
the  fighting  qualities  of  your — of  the  Americans,  in 
short.  Well,  the  truth  compels  me — not  only  to  regret 
hectoring  in  that  style  under  a  provincial's  roof — but 
to,  in  fact,  take  back  some  of  my  predictions.  We 
did  n't  find  it  so  easy  to  march  through  the  colonies. 
Those  fellows  out  there  went  at  us  in  a  style  which 
did  them  credit." 

"  I  don't  care  anything  about  them,"  burst  out  the 
little  love-lorn  sycophant.  "  I  don't  want  anybody  to 
apologize  to  me  for  saying  anything  against  them.  I 
think  they  behave — outrageously." 

"  Oh,  indeed  ? "  he  laughed,  rather  pleased  with  her 
loyalty,  for  of  course  he  must  want  people  to  be  loyal. 
**  Yes,  exactly!  They  are  altogether  in  the  wrong; 
one  may  say  downright  criminal.  Only,  as  to  their 
fighting  faculty — which  is  what  I  was  talking  of — they 
have  a  doosid  deal  more  of  it  than  I  gave  them  credit 
for,"  he  deliberately  added  and  affirmed,  speaking  out 
his  full  opinion  to  please  himself,  whether  it  pleased 
her  or  not. 

Huldah,  so  happy  a  moment  ago,  began  to  flutter 
and  tremble  again.  She  had  meant  to  be  very  agree- 
able to  him;  and,  to  her  confusion,  she  seemed  to  have 
failed.     She  could  only  giggle  a  little,  like  a  child  who 


154  A  Lover's  Revolt 

desires  to  placate  an  elder  person,  and  who  cannot 
think  of  words  whereby  to  do  it.  How  much  like  a 
child  she  seemed  in  the  presence  of  this  lordly  Briton, 
when  she  was  so  coquettishly  at  ease  with  young 
gentlemen  of  native  birth  ! 

The  Captain  was  such  an  experienced  fox  (or  wolf) 
among  women  that  he  could  not  help  perceiving  that 
he  had  before  him  a  willing  victim.  He  was  a  little 
amused  to  see  her  so  fascinated,  and  at  the  same  time 
he  was  a  little  touched  and  softened,  for  emotion  is 
infectious  and  vanity  has  its  gratitude.  If  he  had  had 
a  bottle  of  her  father's  madeira  in  his  head,  and  if  they 
two  had  been  shut  up  by  themselves  somewhere,  he 
might  have  repeated  his  kiss. 

The  least  he  could  do  was  to  make  it  a  nice,  prattling, 
entertaining  walk  for  her.  He  told  her  somewhat  of 
his  work  during  the  last  few  days:  how  he  had  been 
banged  up  early  of  mornings  and  dismissed  to  bed  late 
of  nights;  how  he  had  scribbled  countless  ofificial  docu- 
ments when  he  was  not  rowing  after  a  wandering  ad- 
miral or  galloping  after  a  mislaid  fort ;  how  he  had 
lost  his  temper  with  toil  and  sleeplessness,  and  bullied 
soldiers  and  kicked  a  coachman  and  scolded  his  washer- 
woman ;  and  he  flung  in  a  funny  anecdote  or  two  con- 
cerning a  fussy  general  whom  he  was  prudent  enough 
not  to  name. 

He  meant  to  amuse  Huldah,  and  he  succeeded 
triumphantly.  She  laughed,  and  shrieked,  and  writhed 
like  a  child  who  is  tickled  in  the  ribs.  He  could  have 
made  her  cry  just  as  easily,  if  he  had  been  so  minded. 
Whatever  emotion  he  should  have  demanded  of  her, 
she  was  palpitatingly  ready  to  concede  it  to  him.  Yet 
how  pretty,  and  sweet,  and  fascinating  she  was  in  her 


An  Explanation  155 

infatuation !  Little  could  he  guess, experienced  woman- 
hunter  though  he  was,  how  ugly  her  grief-smitten  face 
had  been,  and  how  spitefully  her  soprano  voice  had 
twanged,  when  she  was  complaining  to  Sister  Ann  of 
his  neglect. 

At  last,  as  they  were  nearing  the  Oakbridge  gate,  he 
remembered  that  he  had  a  question  to  ask.  If  there 
was  nothing  between  this  girl  and  the  man  who  had 
saved  his  life,  he  would  go  in  and  make  a  call,  no 
matter  what  happened — to  her.  If  there  ivas  some- 
thing between  them,  he  would  stay  outside  now  and 
forever,  honor  of  a  British  officer,  par  Dieu  ! 

"  Oh — by  the  way — I  forgot  to  tell  you,"  he  said, 
halting  at  the  gate  and  looking  her  square  in  the  eyes. 
**  I  had  a  monstrous  queer  adventure  the  other  day  in 
that  little  skirmish." 

"  Oh  yes;  do  tell  me!"  begged  Huldah.  "  But 
won't  you  come  in.  Captain  Moorcastle  ?  " 

He  took  no  notice  of  the  invitation.  "  I  met  an 
acquaintance  there,"  he  continued.  "  He  was  on  the 
other  side,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  It  was  your  young 
gentleman  from  Lexington." 

Huldah  began  to  redden  and  to  open  her  eyes  in  a 
scared  way. 

"  Ah — I  see — you  are  interested,"  he  laughed,  not 
quite  pleased  with  the  suspicion.  **  Don't  be  worried. 
Nothing  happened  to  him  that  I  know  of.  And  I  be- 
lieve he  fought  well — better  than  he  had  a  right  to — on 
that  side." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  sir,"  stammered 
Huldah,  changing  from  red  to  pale  and  back  again. 

"  Precisely;  it's  not  my  business,  of  course;  excuse 
my  intruding  on  a  delicate  subject." 


156  A  Lover's  Revolt 

The  Captain  himself  stammered  somewhat,  and  for 
two  or  three  good  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  he  had 
guessed  that  the  girl  was  betrothed,  and  it  worried 
him  somewhat — oh,  nothing  to  speak  of;  it  would 
pass  away.  In  the  second  place,  if  she  were  not  be- 
trothed, he  was  entangling  himself  with  her  by  ques- 
tioning her  about  it. 

"  If  you  mean  that  I  am  promised  to  him,  or  ever 
was  promised  to  him,  Captain  Moorcastle,  it  is  an  entire 
mistake,  I  do  assure  you,"  said  Huldah  all  in  one 
breath,  and  then  stopped  to  pant. 

"  Oh — indeed!  "  he  replied,  both  relieved  and  em- 
barrassed. 

"Yes,  indeed,  it's  true.  Captain  Moorcastle,"  in- 
sisted poor  Huldah,  her  under  lip  quivering  piteously, 
despite  her  struggles  for  self-possession. 

Her  fright  and  humility  cheapened  her  dreadfully 
in  his  eyes.  He  had  felt  for  a  moment  that  he 
was  caught ;  and  now,  of  a  sudden,  he  felt  that  he  was 
free. 

"  Ah  well,  I  got  the  idea  somehow,"  he  resumed. 
'*  He  was  at  the  birthday  dinner,  I  noticed,  and  seemed 
rather  particularly  interested,  I  thought.  It  occurred 
to  me  that  you  might  care  to  know  that  I  saw  him." 

"  He  was  just  an  old  acquaintance,"  pleaded  and 
fibbed  Huldah,  miserably  conscious  that  she  had  lost 
ground,  but  not  knowing  what  better  to  do  than  to 
go  on  pleading.  "  I  take  no  manner  of  interest  in 
him.  He  has  chosen  his  party,  and  I  have  chosen 
mine." 

The  scene  had  become  wearisome  to  Moorcastle,  and 
the  girl  herself  slightly  irksome.  He  decided  that  he 
would  see  her  again  when  he  wanted  to  see  her  more. 


An  Explanation  157 

**  Ah  well,  if  you  don't  like  him,  sorry  I  mentioned 
him,"  he  mumbled,  opening  the  gate  for  her  to  enter. 
"  And  now  do  pity  me  for  being  obleeged  to  tear  me- 
self  away,"  he  added,  with  one  of  the  flourishing  bows 
of  the  period. 

"  But  you  will  call  soon  ?  "  she  begged,  offering  her 
hand,  which  he  took  with  his  left. 

The  long  front  teeth  (she  thought  them  beautiful) 
showed  between  his  lips  as  he  answered,  "  Surely! 
with  the  greatest  possible  pleasure."  Looking  up  at 
him  as  she  did  (the  pleading  kitten  with  the  coral 
mouth),  she  was  too  pretty  to  be  denied  so  little  as  a 
kindly  parting  speech. 

Yes,  and  before  he  had  got  fifty  yards  off,  he  nearly 
came  to  a  halt  and  an  about-face,  wishing  that  he  had 
accepted  her  meek  invitation.  A  girl  had  no  right  to 
fling  herself  at  a  fellow's  head  in  such  style,  unless 
she  was  ready  and  willing  to — to  make  things  pleasant 
for  him. 

"  Asto  that  Lexington  chap,"  he  at  last  remembered 
to  think,  "  I  don't  understand  his  behavior  at  all,  curse 
me  if  I  do.  And  if  the  girl  don't  want  him,  I  can't 
hand  her  over  to  him.  I  shall  have  to  get  even  with 
him  some  other  way." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AIMING  AT   THE   PEERAGE 

OF  course  Huldah  rehearsed  the  entire  scene  with 
Moorcastle  to  her  habitual  confidant,  guided  and 
stimulated  through  the  narrative  by  Ann's  queries  of 
"  What  did  he  say  to  that  ?  "  and  "  What  6\d.  you  say 
then  ?" 

The  yearnings  of  love  and  the  exaggerations  of 
vanity  so  swelled  the  volume  of  the  tale,  and  gave  it 
such  unmeant  variations,  that  Moorcastle  would  hardly 
have  recognized  the  interview  in  the  form  which  it  took 
on  those  voluble  and  fervid  lips.  And  yet  Huldah 
wanted  to  tell  Ann  precisely  how  things  had  happened, 
for  she  wanted  to  know  exactly  where  she  stood  and 
what  was  likely  to  befall  her  next. 

It  is  not  easy  to  fully  comprehend  and  state  the 
workings  of  a  fragile  little  soul  which  is  striving  to 
turn  to  its  own  purposes  a  soul  far  stronger  and  more 
egoistic  than  itself.  As  well  might  one  try  to  describe 
all  the  fluctuations  of  a  moth  about  the  flame  of  a 
candle,  or  all  the  spiritual  struggles  of  a  feeble  saint 
who  seeks  to  drive  a  favorable  bargain  with  Satan. 
But  as  there  is  a  multitude  of  butterfly  beings  like 
Huldah,  and  as  they  may  possibly  be  of  an  immortal 
nature,  is  it  not  one's  duty  to  grant  some  earnest  study 
to  their  gyrations  ? 

158 


Aiming  at  the  Peerage  159 

**  I  do  wish  you  could  have  seen  him  bow  to  me," 
twittered  Huldah.  "  I  never  ivas  so  bowed  to  before 
in  my  whole  life.  He  seemed  perfectly  delighted  to 
meet  again.     Don't  you  think  he  was  ?  " 

"  Why,  sutnly,  if  he  showed  it  so  much,"  hoped 
Ann,  who  did  not  know  how  mechanically  society 
people  bow  and  smile.  For  her  part,  she  was  pleasant 
to  those  she  liked,  and  unpleasant  to  those  she  disliked, 
after  the  manner  of  Highgate. 

I  think  he  wanted,  and  wanted,  and  wanted  to 
come  in,"  continued  Huldah.  "  And  oh!  he  did  ex- 
cuse himself  so  beautifully!  *  Do  pity  me  for  being 
obleeged  to  tear  meself  away,'  "  she  recited,  imitating 
to  the  best  of  her  soprano  ability  Moorcastle's  robust 
voice  and  rolling  utterance.  "  And  he  looked  so  hand- 
some when  he  said  it!  Don't  you  think  he  has  a 
beautiful  complexion  ?  " 

Sister  Ann  remembered  the  embryonic  pimples  under 
the  Captain's  roseate  surface,  but  she  also  admired  the 
fashionable  port-wine  coloring  of  the  period,  and  she 
responded,  "  Puffeckly  splendid! — so  English!  " 

"Oh!  he  must  be  serious,"  resumed  Huldah. 
"  You  can't  imagine  how  glum  he  looked  when  he  was 
trying  to  find  out  if  I  was  promised  to  Ash  Farnlee — 
horrid  idea!  It  seemed  to  me  as  though  those  great 
black  eyes  were  boring  into  my  very  soul.  Why,  I 
thought  I  should  never  be  able  to  speak;  I  thought 
I  should  drop.  I  felt  like  saying,  *  Do  catch  me.  Cap- 
tain Moorcastle!  Mercy!  what  a  scene  it  would  have 
been  if  I  had  fainted  !  " 

"  The  best  thing  you  could  'a'  done,"  judged  Ann. 

But  you  convinced  him,  did  n't  you  ?  You  made  him 
understand  puffeckly  that  Farnlee  was  nothink  toyou?" 


i6o  A  Lover's  Revolt 

"  Oh,  perfectly!  I  just  scorned  the  idea.  Why! 
don't  you  think  he  believed  me  ?  " 

**  I  do  'ope  so.  A  British  officer  would  n't  stand 
'aving  that  kind  of  a  rival." 

**  But  what  makes  you  think  he  did  n't  beheve  me?  " 

"  I  did  n't  say  so;  I  said  I  'oped  he  did.  There! 
don't  worry." 

"  He  would  n't  be  mad,  just  merely  because  I  used 
to  know  Ash.  He  was  n't  mad  when  Ash  was  here  to 
the  dinner.     You  know  he — he  kissed  me." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  mumbled  Ann,  who  had  got  rather 
weary  of  hearing  about  that  salutation.  She,  a  born 
Englishwoman,  had  never  been  kissed  by  an  officer, 
and  here  was  this  little  Yankee  thing —  !  It  was  more 
than  her  Britannic  spunk  could  well  bear,  and  she 
could  not  help  wanting  to  take  down  Bostonian  conceit. 
**  You  must  n't  make  too  much  of  that,"  she  said. 
"  Gen'lemen,  when  they  've  been  drinking  a  bit,  some- 
times make  free  without  meaning  true  love,  much  less 
merridge." 

' '  Well ! — now ! ' '  pouted  H  uldah,  looking  at  her  with 
plaintive  reproach. 

But  Sister  Ann  had  recovered  her  good  temper. 
She  really  did  desire  most  passionately  that  her  pretty 
little  relative  should  marry  Moorcastle.  It  would  be 
such  a  splendid  thing,  almost  too  glorious  for  a  native 
of  Highgate,  to  be  the  sister-in-law  of  a  captain  who 
might  become  an  earl ! 

**  There!  don't  worry,"  she  repeated.  **  I  do  'ope 
and  believe  it  meant  hever  so  much.  But  I  don't  want 
you  to  be  too  easy  sure.  That  's  where  it  is.  One 
can't  be  solid  sure  of  a  gen'leman  till  he  's  spoke  the 
word  and  nailed  himself  with  a  promise.     And  I  think, 


Aiming  at  the  Peerage  i6i 

too,  in  such  a  case  as  yourn,  my  dear,  it  's  ahvays 
well  to  'ave  it  in  black  and  white.  If  I  was  in  your 
shoes,  I  should  aim  to  get  my  hoffer  on  paper,  and  if 
it  had  his  coat  o'  harms  at  the  top,  so  much  the 
better." 

"  Oh!  "  said  the  girl,  more  in  protest  than  in  ac- 
quiescence. She  had  been  painting  the  "  hoffer  "  to 
herself :  the  gorgeous,  adorable  Captain  at  her  feet ;  his 
pleading  voice  and  fervid  words;  the  joy  of  seeing  and 
hearing  him;  the  great  joy  of  giving! 

"  Well,  anyway,  you  won't  hear  now  to  going  into 
the  rebel  lines,"  continued  Ann.  "  That  would  kill 
it  all  stone  dead  ;  farewell  then  to  Captain  Moorksle !  " 
Of  course  I  'm  not  going.  I  won't  stir  a  step. 
I  '11  be  torn  to  rags  and  tatters  first.  Why!  you  '11 
let  me  stay  with  you,  won't  you  ?  " 

'*  Yes;  but  if  Father  and  Mother  Oakbridge  go — 
well,  you  know,  they  can  take  you  in  spite  of  me. 
That  's  where  it  is." 

"  Oh  dear!  "  whimpered  Huldah.  "  How  can  we 
stop  it  ?  " 

Then  there  was  a  solemn  compact  to  fight  tooth  and 
nail  against  the  project  of  a  flight  from  Boston.  "  I  '11 
cry  my   eyes   out,"    resolved    and    affirmed    Huldah. 

I  '11  say  that  they  are  breaking  my  heart.  I  '11  tell 
them  all  about  Captain  Moorcastle. " 

"  Yes,  but  wait!  see  here!  Wait  till  there  's  some- 
thing more  pertickler  to  tell  them.  Don't  confess  a 
word  yet  about  the  Captain.  You  don't  know  yet 
how  they  'd  take  it.  They  might  be  all  the  fiercer  to 
go,  if  they  knew  he  was  making  up  to  you.  Just  you 
be  prudent,  won't  you,  dear  ?  " 

**  Y-es,"  moaned  Huldah,  comprehending  that  pru- 


1 62  A  Lover's  Revolt 

dence  meant  slyness  and  deception,  and  wincing  a  little 
thereat. 

But  it  was  not  easy  to  defeat  the  plan  for  leaving 
Boston.  Mother  Oakbridge  was  placidly  intent  upon 
joining  her  household  to  the  cause  which  was  supported 
by  three  fourths  of  her  countrymen,  and  which  she 
believed  to  be  righteous.  Father  Oakbridge,  that 
amiable  forerunner  of  the  modern  American  husband, 
easily  yielded  to  his  wife's  blandly  strenuous  inclina- 
tions, backed  as  they  were  by  the  necessity  of  looking 
up  business.  They  had  decided  to  leave  Uncle  Fenn 
with  John  Oakbridge;  to  leave  the  store  and  the  few 
remaining  customers  with  John,  also;  and  to  settle  in 
far-off,  peaceable  Northampton. 

Huldah's  first  timid  remonstrances  against  the  project 
received  no  attention.  When  she  became  outspoken 
and  fervid,  her  mother  said,  "Child,  listen  to  your 
father."  When  she  broke  forth  in  lamentations  and 
weeping,  the  same  calm,  determined  voice  added, 
"  Huldy,  go  to  your  room,  and  open  your  Bible,  and 
read  the  commandments." 

The  commandments  (she  really  went  up  and  read 
them)  did  her  no  good.  The  poor  love-sick  little  thing 
was  at  her  silly  wits'  ends.  In  her  desperation  she  ap- 
pealed to  Uncle  Fenn,  who  was  on  his  tottering  band- 
aged legs  again,  chock-full  of  gout  and  Toryism.  But 
in  vain  did  the  parson  wail  and  denounce ;  in  vain  did 
he  threaten  to  hobble  forth  and  die  in  the  gutter;  in 
vain  did  he  summon  the  wrath  of  Heaven  and  of 
Gracious  Majesty.  Brawny  Sister  Ann's  intervention 
was  equally  useless,  for  after  one  interview  with  quiet 
Mother  Oakbridge,  she  retreated  to  her  own  dwelling 
and  declined  to  make  another  sally.     The  merchant 


Aiming  at  the  Peerage  163 

went  on  closing  up  his  share  of  Boston's  business,  and 
his  women  folk  went  on  with  their  baling  and  boxing 
for  the  removal. 

It  was  a  sad  household,  even  for  a  beleaguered  city. 
Huldah  packed  kitchen  ware  and  corded  bundles  of 
bedding,  with  the  tears  dropping  off  her  rosy  cheeks 
and  the  bridge  of  her  cunning  nose. 

You  want  to  kill  me,"  she  at  last  burst  out  with  a 
shaking  mouth,  glancing  sidelong  at  her  silent  mother. 

"Well,   what   is   it  all    about,    Huldy  ?  "    was    the 

answer.     "  Who  is  putting  you  up  to  this  behavior  ?  " 

Nobody,"  wailed  the  girl.     "  I  don't  want  to  go 

into  the  country.   I  want  to  stay  in  Boston,  where  we  've 

always  lived.     I  don't  want  to  go  into  the  rebel  lines." 

The  unwhipped  daughters  of  modern  Massachusetts 
can  hardly  imagine  the  terror  with  which  Huldah 
uttered  the  defiance  expressed  in  that  word  rebel.  It 
was  not  so  very  many  months  since  she  had  received 
a  smart  correction  for  a  hasty  bit  of  unfilial  bravado ; 
and  even  now,  eighteen  years  old  though  she  was,  and 
cracked  about  a  noble  British  officer,  she  did  not  feel 
quite  safe  from  the  paternal  cowskin. 

Is  this  all  along  of  Ann's  talk  ?  "  enquired  Mrs. 
Oakbridge. 

Uncle   Fenn  is  as  much  against  going  as  Sister 
Ann." 

This  was  too  transparent.  Mrs.  Oakbridge  knew 
that  Huldah  did  not  care  tuppence  for  Uncle  Timo- 
theus.  Indeed,  it  was  one  of  her  griefs  that  her 
daughter,  the  petted  darling  of  the  household,  had 
little  family  affection. 

"  Is  it  that — that  Captain  ?  "  she  demanded,  trying 
vainly  to  catch  the  girl's  eye. 


164  A  Lover's  Revolt 

**  I  hain't  seen  him  but  once  in  two  weeks,"  Huldah 
snapped  with  suspicious  emotion. 

Mrs.  Oakbridge  wondered  if  that  were  true,  though 
she  was  ashamed  to  suspect  her  daughter  (a  sister  in 
church  membership)  of  even  indirect  fibbing.  She 
bent  her  head  over  a  roll  of  home-made  carpet,  and 
sewed  up  its  tow-cloth  casing  without  further  speech. 
But  she  wore  a  clouded  brow,  that  afternoon,  when 
Captain  Moorcastle  called  on  the  young  lady  of  the 
house. 

Huldah  welcomed  her  visitor  with  such  a  smile  as 
those  who  best  loved  her  had  not  seen  on  her  face  for 
days.  The  Captain,  moved  by  her  obvious  joy  at 
meeting  him,  was  more  attentive  and  gallant  than  he 
had  ever  been  before,  except  in  that  ecstatic  moment 
of  the  kiss.  There  was  a  chance  of  an  offer,  or  at  least 
Huldah  pantingly  thought  so,  when  her  cumbersome 
sister-in-law  bustled  into  the  room,  hitting  both  door- 
posts as  usual. 

"  I  'm  so  sorry  to  intrude,"  mumbled  Ann,  redden- 
ing under  the  discontented  stare  of  the  noble  caller. 
"  But  if  you  will  please  to  excuse  it,  Captain  Moorksle, 
I  'd  beg  leave  to  speak  with  you  just  a  minute." 

Then  came  the  story  of  Jehiel  Oakbridge's  projected 
flight  from  Boston. 

"  And  I  don't  want  them  to  go,"  continued  Ann. 
"  Nor  yet  sister  there  don't  want  to  go.  But  Father 
Oakbridge  is  main  set  on  it,  and  we  can't  persuade 
him  away  from  it.  So  we — me  and  sister  there — we  're 
just  crying  our  heyes  out." 

"  Oh,  by  Jupiter,  yes!  and  I  shall  too,"  responded 
Moorcastle,  with  a  jovial  gallantry  which  made  Huldah 
giggle  and  then  turn  pale.     But  in  the  next  instant  he 


Aiming  at  the  Peerage  165 

looked  seriously  concerned.  "  By  Jupiter!  this  won't 
do  at  all,"  he  continued.  "  We  can't  have  our  best 
citizens  all  rushing  off  to  Mr.  Israel  Putnam  and  the 
other  rebel  patriarchs.  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  your 
excellent  parent  (please  give  him  my  very  best  re- 
spects) actually  means  to  join  the  insurgents,  or  even 
to  wish  them  well.  But  it  looks  bad  for  us,  don't  you 
perceive,  to  have  such  intelligent  persons  leaving  us, 
like  rats  deserting  a  sinking  ship.  When  is  this  de- 
parture ?  " 

Day  after  to-morrow,"  murmured  Huldah,  with  a 
piteous  glance  which  implored  help. 

The  doose  you  say!  Well,  now,  'pon  me  soul, 
can't  something  be  done  ?  Suppose  I  should  take  the 
audacious  liberty  to  say  a  word  against  it  to  your 
honored  father  ?  " 

Huldah  looked  frightened,  but  Sister  Ann  cried 
out,  "  Oh!  if  you  would  be  so  kind!  " 

It  had  occurred  to  the  eager  match-maker  that  such 
an  appeal,  even  though  it  should  not  please  Father 
Oakbridge,  would  tend  to  **  fix  "  Captain  Moorcastle 
as  Huldah's  suitor. 

But  the  same  idea  crossed  the  mind  of  the  ex- 
perienced lady-killer  in  scarlet.  He  bent  his  powdered 
head  to  ponder  if  there  were  not  some  other  way,  less 
entangling  to  his  right  honorable  self,  of  keeping  this 
family  in  Boston.  Could  not  the  worthy  shopkeeper 
be  furnished  with  a  contract  to  supply  the  troops,  or 
the  fleet,  or  the  refugees  ?  His  lips  puffed  out  with 
an  expression  of  disappointment  as  he  called  to  mind 
that  all  plums  of  that  sort  had  already  been  divided 
among  influential  citizens  of  pronounced  and  importu- 
nate loyalty.     But  just  as  Huldah  began  to  lose  courage 


1 66  A  Lover's  Revolt 

and  fear  she  should  cry,  he  looked  up  from  sucking 
his  gold-headed  cane  with  a  triumphant  smile. 

"  Aw!  I  have  it.  I  '11  bet  fifty  guineas,  Miss  Oak- 
bridge,  that  I  sha'n't  have  the  sorrow  of  losing  sight  of 
you  in  such  a  calamitous  hurry." 

But  he  would  not  explain  his  plan  to  the  two  over- 
joyed young  women.  **  Not  a  word  about  this,  I  im- 
plore you  on  my  knees,"  he  said.  "  Now  let  me  beg 
of  you,  both  you  kind-hearted  angels,  don't  let  a  soul 
know  that  we  have  even  talked  this  over." 

Then  he  and  Huldah  looked  at  Sister  Ann  with  an 
expression  which  enquired  if  she  meant  to  stay  all  day. 
Being  woman  enough  to  understand  the  situation,  she 
was  preparing  in  blushing  haste  to  depart,  when  that 
giant  son  of  Kronos,  the  wooden  clock  in  the  hall, 
droned  out  the  hour  of  five. 

"  By  Jupiter!  "  cried  the  Captain,  recollecting  some- 
thing of  extreme  importance  to  him,  perhaps  his  din- 
ner. And  with  a  mumbled  good-bye,  and  a  most 
wonderful  bow,  he  got  himself  out  of  the  house,  to  the 
bitter  disappointment  of  Huldah,  who  believed  that 
she  would  have  had  an  offer  but  for  Sister  Ann's  in- 
trusion. 

The  next  day  an  order  was  issued  from  garrison 
headquarters,  forbidding  all  citizens  whatever  from 
quitting  the  town,  and  revoking  all  passes  theretofore 
granted.  Imagine  the  delight  of  Huldah  when  she 
found  that  she  was  shut  up  in  Boston  with  Captain 
Moorcastle.  For  to  her  there  was  nobody  else  there; 
he  was  her  Boston,  her  earth,  her  universe. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

NEW   ENGLAND    IN   CAMP 

AFTER  the  fight  of  Lexington  and  Concord,  Squire 
Farnlee  appeared  no  more  as  Death  on  the  Pale 
Horse. 

"  I  am  an  old  man,  Asahel,"  he  explained.  "  The 
fatigue  of  that  one  day  showed  me  that  I  am  no  longer 
fit  to  go  forth  to  battle.  You  must  join  the  army  in 
my  place,  and  do  your  duty  there,  and  mine  also.  To 
every  generation  its  own  warfare,  and  for  its  own  ends. 
I  took  up  arms  to  maintain  English  rights  for  English- 
men born  in  America.  But  I  begin  to  suspect  that  the 
purpose  of  this  struggle  will  be  independence.  That 
(I  must  admit  it,  Asahel)  is  as  yet  a  terrible  idea  to 
me.     Yet  God's  will  be  done!  " 

Shortly  after  this  interview  Asahel  became  a  captain, 
serving  as  aid  on  the  staff  of  Major-General  Artemas 
Ward,  commander  of  the  forces  of  Massachusetts. 

An  aidship  is  not  a  bad  position  for  a  novice;  he 
usually  acts  under  explicit  instructions,  and  his  re- 
sponsibility is  light.  Asahel  wrote  many  scores  of 
letters  based  on  memoranda  furnished  by  the  com- 
mander-in-chief. He  galloped  about  with  messages  to 
Thomas,  Putnam,  Green,  Heath,  and  other  ofificers. 
He  transmitted  reprimands  to  colonels  who  did  not 
drill  their  men,  or  did  not  keep  their  camps  clean,  or 

167 


1 68  A  Lovers  Revolt 

neglected  guard  matters.  Sometimes  he  rode  grand- 
rounds;  feeling  his  way  by  night  through  all  the  by- 
paths and  swamps  between  Mystic  River  and  Roxbury  ; 
waking  up  and  blowing  up  sentinels  who  had  gone  to 
sleep  under  the  lee  of  fences  and  haycocks;  reporting 
officers  of  the  guard  whom  he  caught  playing  checkers 
or  cards  in  barns;  in  short,  making  himself  generally 
dreadful,  after  the  manner  of  staff-officers. 

A  number  of  unpleasant  adventures  befell  him  during 
these  nocturnal  wanderings.  Once  he  broke  his  girths 
in  leaping  a  wall,  and  had  three  sombre  miles  to  trudge 
with  his  saddle  on  his  back,  leading,  or  rather  dragging, 
his  jaded  and  sleepy  horse.  Once  he  had  a  pack  of 
dogs  to  beat  off  with  his  sabre,  not  daring  to  fire  his 
huge  pistols  lest  he  should  arouse  both  armies. 
Another  night  he  missed  a  bridge,  and  barely  escaped 
drowning  while  swimming  an  oozy  rivulet,  being  de- 
termined to  get  across  somehow.  Also  he  had  a 
furious  moonlight  gallop  after  a  manifest  Tory  spy, 
who  turned  out  when  caught  to  be  a  patriotic  country 
doctor,  riding  at  speed  to  answer  the  summons  of 
an  old  lady  (as  he  genially  explained)  *'  whose  toe-nail 
was  growing  in." 

In  short.  Ash  proved  himself  a  zealous  staff-officer, 
and  a  much  better  one  than  he  himself  believed.  He 
was  very  eager  to  master  his  new  business ;  he  looked 
up  veterans  of  the  Seven  Years  War,  and  gleaned  from 
their  rather  dry  memories  such  information  as  they 
could  furnish;  also  he  read  anew  Plutarch's  lives  of 
Alexander  and  Caesar,  though  without  finding  much 
concerning  the  duties  of  staff-officers.  Something, 
too,  was  to  be  learned  from  Major-General  Ward,  an 
able   lawyer  and  respectable   judge  who  had  served 


New  England  in  Camp  169 

against  Louisbourg,  and  was  reckoned  the  Moltke  of 
Massachusetts. 

But  Asahel's  preferred  mentor  was  General  Israel 
Putnam  of  Connecticut,  also  a  veteran  of  the  last 
French  war.  He  was  a  prosperous  farmer,  of  about 
fifty-seven;  his  face  round,  chubby,  kindly,  humorous, 
and  surmounted  by  a  tousled  wealth  of  iron-gray 
curls;  his  figure  square,  burly,  and  remarkably  muscu- 
lar. At  this  time  and  for  long  afterward  he  was  a 
popular  hero ;  partly  because  of  his  zeal  in  the  colonial 
cause,  his  eagerness  for  bold  operations,  and  his  fame 
as  an  adventurous  hunter  and  fighter;  but  largely  also 
because  he  represented  the  American  yeoman.  He  may 
be  regarded  as  the  first  of  those  personages  whom  we 
have  delighted  to  honor  under  such  names  as  the  Mill 
Boy,  the  Rail-Splitter,  etc. 

"  I  'm  glad  to  see  ye  riding  your  rounds  so  faith- 
fully," he  said  to  young  Farnlee.  "  The  boys  are 
careless,  the  boys  are  green.  You  must  follow  them 
up  as  you  would  your  oxen.  It  takes  a  monstrous 
deal  of  hawing  and  geeing  for  a  general  to  get  his 
plough  straight  across  his  meadow.  I  wish  ^t  we  had 
more  men  that  's  eager  to  larn ;  yes,  and  more  that  's 
able  to  teach.  Let  me  give  ye  one  important  hint. 
Captain  :  never  believe  a  thing  's  been  done  till  you  've 
seen  it  done;  never  believe  it  in  military  matters,  at 
any  rate." 

Ash  cantered  away  on  a  tour  through  some  of  the 
regimental  camps,  to  see  whether  the  colonels  were 
carrying  out  orders  in  regard  to  a  regular  afternoon 
drill.  It  was  a  wonderful  series  of  awkward  squads 
which  he  inspected,  though  he  little  knew  the  full  ex- 
tent of  their  ignorance  and  lubberliness.     There  were 


170  A  Lover's  Revolt 

few  competent  drill-masters,  and  there  was  no  generally 
accepted  system  of  drill.  Every  captain  and  colonel 
had  his  own  notions  (if  he  were  lucky  enough  to  have 
any  notions  whatever)  as  to  how  soldiers  should  handle 
their  arms,  and  face,  and  wheel,  and  deploy.  Not  till 
more  than  two  years  later  did  Steuben  and  De  Kalb 
teach  the  Americans  to  manoeuvre  with  some  degree 
of  uniformity  and  accuracy. 

Uniforms  were  rare  except  among  the  officers,  who 
wore  as  many  kinds  as  though  they  belonged  to  a 
dozen  armies.  It  was  impossible  to  distinguish  with 
certainty  between  a  lieutenant  and  a  colonel.  The 
fit  of  the  garments  was  what  could  be  produced  by  the 
mothers,  and  wives,  and  daughters  of  New  England. 

The  men  were  of  all  ages,  from  white-headed  grand- 
sires  to  hobbledehoy  younkers.  But  in  general  they 
were  tall,  wiry  fellows  whose  sunburnt  hands  and  faces 
showed  that  they  were  farmers.  Here  and  there  was 
a  negro,  in  some  cases  serving  as  a  cook,  in  others  as  a 
soldier.  It  would  appear  that  our  national  prejudice 
of  color  did  not  become  intense  until  we  began  to  have 
abolitionists. 

As  a  rule,  the  officers  were  of  a  higher  social  caste 
than  the  rank  and  file.  It  would  probably  have  been 
impossible  to  get  the  men  of  a  company  to  elect  as 
captain  a  comrade  who  was  not  a  landholder  and  a 
"  qualified  voter."  Americans  had  not  yet  discovered 
that  people  without  property  are  best  fitted  to  rule 
those  who  have  property.  They  had  not  yet  heard  that 
all  men  are  born  equal;  nobody  on  earth,  if  even  in  the 
heavens,  had  heard  of  it ;  this  revelation  did  not  reach 
our  planet  till  more  than  a  year  later. 

Nearly   all   the   soldiers  were  puritans  of   the  sort 


New  England  in  Camp  171 

called  Congregationalists,  or  Independents.  They  were 
the  descendants  of  men  who  had  fled  from  Laud's  per- 
secution, or  of  men  who  had  remained  in  the  old  land 
long  enough  to  fight  under  Fairfax  and  Cromwell.  As 
a  rule,  they  believed  the  Bible,  and  went  to  "  meeting  " 
whenever  they  could,  and  refrained  from  gross  vices. 
Those  who  swore  and  broke  the  Sabbath  confessed 
that  they  wrought  wickedly  in  so  doing,  and  expected 
to  go  to  hell  for  it  unless  they  repented.  Now  and 
then  some  of  them  got  drunk,  without  divining  that 
they  committed  sin.  Even  the  solemn  chaplains, 
whom  Ash  Farnlee  saw  in  every  camp,  had  not  heard 
of  the  gospel  of  total  abstinence. 

The  great  majority  could  read  and  write,  though 
they  might  spell  somewhat  by  ear,  and  hold  the  pen 
with  cramped  fingers.  And  what  few  books  they  knew 
(such  as  the  English  Bible,  and  the  works  of  Bunyan, 
Baxter,  Milton,  and  Shakspere)  were  well  worth  read- 
ing several  times  over,  both  for  purity  of  diction  and 
weight  of  matter.  Their  own  spoken  English  was 
fairly  pure,  very  slightly  marked  by  local  dialects  and 
brogues,  and  more  grammatical  than  the  speech  of  any 
other  yeomanry  in  the  world.  Of  course  they  held 
to  certain  pronunciations  which  in  our  day  would 
sound  antique  and  plebeian;  for  instance,  they  said 
natur  instead  of  naychiir,  and  creetur  instead  of  cree- 
chuTy  and  acktually  instead  of  ackcJmally .  America 
had  not  yet  imported  from  England  that  mincing 
metamorphosis  of  /  into  ch,  which  England  imported 
from  Beelzebub  knows  where,  or  perhaps  dug  up  in  its 
own  Cockaigne. 

No  doubt  there  were  snifHing,  stammering  utter- 
ances, and  backwoods  oddities  of  phrase  and  metaphor, 


172  A  Lover's  Revolt 

the  origins  of  that  form  of  Enghsh  celebrated  as  the 
Yankee  dialect,  a  sparse  and  stunted  vulgar  tongue 
which  novelists  glean  and  gather  with  no  small  diffi- 
culty, sometimes  adding  thereto  a  logical  sprig  of  their 
own  invention.  The  college-bred  Farnlees  did  not 
use  it,  but  Abner  Sly  found  it  nearly  sufficient  for  the 
expression  of  his  meagre  ideas,  and  Israel  Putnam 
could  be  humorously  at  his  ease  in  it  when  he  chose. 

On  the  whole,  these  sixteen  thousand  provincials 
were  better  educated  than  the  scornful  redcoats,  the 
hirelin"-  battalions  of  Saxon  carles  and  hill  Caledonians 
and  bog-trotting  Firbolgs,  who  stared  at  their  loose 
camps  from  the  Shawmut  peninsula.  Many  of  them 
knew  more  about  the  legal  rights  and  wrongs  of  the 
case  at  issue  than  did  the  royal  governor  of  Massachu- 
setts, Major  -  General  Thomas  Gage.  There  were 
among  them  wiser  statesmen  than  Lord  North,  and 
better  constitutional  lawyers  than  Mr.  Wedderburn. 

So  far  as  concerned  the  two  camps  alone,  the  con- 
test lay  between  a  fairly  cultured  yeomanry,  not  yet 
broken  to  military  ways,  and  a  Dorian  proletariat  from 
the  motherland,  trained  by  the  cat  into  adamantine 
phalanges.  In  mere  human  material,  the  American 
army  was  one  of  the  finest  ever  seen  on  this  war- 
trampled  planet.  If  it  had  possessed  plenty  of  car- 
tridges, plenty  of  bayonets,  a  good  cavalry,  an  artillery 
train,  magazines,  discipline,  drill,  regimental  traditions, 
money,  and  experienced  officers,  it  would  have  been  a 
most  formidable  array. 

It  had  scarcely  a  foreshadowing  of  these  essential 
elements  of  martial  efficiency.  Its  only  hope  of 
victory  lay  in  zeal,  in  a  pretty  general  knowledge  of 
woodcraft,  in  a  swift   faculty    for   throwing  up  field- 


New  England  in  Camp  173 

works,  and  in  a  high  average  of  marksmanship.  Fred- 
eric the  Great,  at  the  head  of  one  third  of  its  number 
of  trained  soldiers,  would  have  expected  to  dislodge 
and  disperse  it  in  four  hours.  But  luckily  for  Ameri- 
can liberty,  luckily  too  for  constitutional  liberty  in  the 
old  country,  there  was  nobody  resembling  Frederic  at 
the  head  of  the  solid,  scarred  battalions  which  crowded 
the  barracks  of  Boston. 

The  provincials  were  eager  for  a  fight,  and  Ash 
Farnlee  was  among  the  eagerest.  Accordingly,  as 
soon  as  he  had  finished  his  inspection,  he  cantered 
over  Charlestown  Neck  to  spy  out  a  way  of  attacking 
General  Gage  and  Captain  Moorcastle.  There  was  an 
American  picket  on  Bunker  Hill,  and  he  halted  to  see 
if  it  appeared  to  be  watchful.  Then  he  pushed  on 
eastward  to  a  rounded  spur  which  was  called  Breed's 
Hill,  so  far  as  it  had  a  specific  name.  He  was  now 
within  easy  field-piece  range  of  the  city  which  he 
longed  to  deliver. 

At  his  feet  lay  the  five  hundred  wooden  dwellings 
and  shops  of  Charlestown,  and  just  beyond  them  shone 
the  yellowish-green  waters  of  the  Charles  River.  Out- 
side that  hither  shore,  perfectly  distinct  to  the  naked 
eye,  was  the  enemy.  The  black  ships  which  lay  at 
anchor  in  the  stream  were  full  of  enemies.  The  red- 
coated  sentry  who  paced  behind  the  low  rampart  on 
Copp's  Hill  would  think  it  a  duty  to  shoot  him  on 
sight,  and  a  pleasure  to  bayonet  him  afterwards.  The 
general  who  commanded  in  the  partially  visible  city 
beyond  would  consider  it  no  more  than  just  to  order 
him  to  the  gallows. 

It  seemed  strange,  incredible,  monstrous.  But  Ash 
found  a  defiant,  pugnacious  satisfaction  in  brooding 


174  Lover's   Revolt 

over  it.  If  those  men  wanted  to  kill  him,  he  also 
wanted  to  kill  them.  He  meant  to  show  them  that  he 
was  their  match  in  war,  and  to  make  them  acknowledge 
that  he  was  their  equal  in  peace.  His  father,  and  the 
elders  generally,  might  be  satisfied  with  legal  parity. 
But  he  ? — not  until  an  American  was  as  good  on  his 
own  soil  as  an  Englishman;  not  until  he  was  as  good 
in  the  eyes  of  his  own  countrymen  and  countrywomen  ; 
not  until  British  domination  and  provincial  sycophancy 
had  both  perished ;  not  until  then  would  he  end  Jiis 
battle. 

Presently,  as  he  scanned  the  Boston  shore  with  his 
spy-glass,  he  caught  sight  of  two  figures  on  Copp's 
Hill,  a  redcoated  officer  and  a  lady.  Was  that  Hul- 
dah  Oakbridge  ?  and  was  she  pointing  him  out  to 
Captain  Moorcastle  ?  He  wheeled  his  horse  quicker 
than  if  those  cannon  had  been  brought  to  bear  upon 
him,  and  rode  furiously  back  to  the  American  lines 
like  a  man  fleeing  from  his  deadliest  foe. 

He  was  on  the  mainland,  and  had  pulled  up  to 
breathe  Redskin,  when  he  heard  a  familiar  voice  twang 
out  his  name.  There  by  the  roadside,  amidst  a  gang 
of  provincials  who  were  throwing  up  a  breastwork, 
stood  Abner  Sly,  leaning  on  a  spade  and  wiping  his 
brow  with  his  shirt-sleeve. 

**  How  de  do  ?"  called  Abner.  "  Darned  if  you 
don't  look  Jerusalem-fine,"  he  added,  surveying 
Farnlee's  epaulets  with  approbation. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  soldiering  ?  "  the  Captain 
asked,  for  lack  of  something  better  to  say. 

"  It  's  pooty  much  like  farmin*,  's  fur  's  I  've  got, 
Capting.     I  wish  we  had  some  calvary,  'n'  I  was  in  it. " 

"  If  we  ever  have  any,  I  '11  get  you  into  it,"  prom- 
ised Farnlee  as  he  cantered  away. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ABNER   AS   A   TROOPER 

ABN  ER  SLY,  like  most  of  his  regimental  comrades, 
dwelt  in  a  hovel  of  cobblestones  and  turf,  with 
a  roof  of  flat  rails  and  straw  thatching. 

It  was  not  a  water-proof  residence;  and  the  three 
respectable  young  landholders  who  lodged  with  him 
murmured  a  little  at  its  muddiness;  they  could  not 
always  find  a  clean  spot  of  floor  whereon  to  hold  their 
morning  and  evening  devotions.  But  Abner  rather 
liked  it,  because  he  could  make  believe  to  himself  that 
it  was  a  wigwam ;  while,  in  regard  to  prayer  (as  he  ex- 
plained to  his  corporal,  Deacon  Eliphalet  Muzzy),  he 
could  take  it  standing,  or  lying  down,  or  most  anyway; 
in  fact,  on  a  pinch,  he  could  skirmish  along  without  it 
for  a  considerable  spell;  he  had  n't  been  fotched  up  to 
be  bigoted  about  it. 

As  there  was  no  reveille  in  that  particular  camp,  the 
men  got  up  when  they  wanted  breakfast ;  and  as  there 
was  no  "  lights  out,"  they  frequently  sat  around  their 
bonfires  till  midnight,  or  later;  some  of  them  talking 
religion,  or  politics,  or  tactics,  or  telling  hunting 
stories;  some  moodily  wishing  they  were  at  home. 
There  was,  however,  a  certain  amount  of  drill,  of 
guard-duty,  and  of  entrenching;  and  these  duties  were 

175 


176  A  Lover's  Revolt 

performed  with  zeal  and  physical  vigor,  if  not  with 
mihtary  smartness. 

Abner,  Hke  most  of  his  comrades,  was  anxious  to  be 
a  "  peart  soldier  "  ;  and  having  a  Yankee's  aptness  at 
turning  his  hand  to  novelties,  he  soon  learned  his 
facings,  wheelings,  and  musket  exercise;  at  all  events, 
he  learned  the  little  that  his  captain  was  able  to  teach. 
Loading  and  firing  he  had  known  all  about  ever  since 
he  could  lay  a  ducking-gun  across  a  log.  "  Fact  is," 
he  affirmed,  probably  in  a  figurative  sense,  "  I  was 
weaned  on  a  powder-horn."  Entrenching  he  really 
liked,  because  he  could  see  the  practical  value  of  a 
breastwork  as  a  cover,  and  as  a  rest  for  the  firelock, 
and  also  because  he  could  apply  to  it  that  dearly  loved 
word,  ambush. 

Standing  guard  by  day  Abner  considered  foolish- 
ness; for,  as  he  argued,  everybody  could  see  then 
whether  the  British  were  coming  or  not;  and,  if  they 
should  come,  it  would  be  no  use  bawling  at  them  for 
the  countersign.  But  standing  guard  by  night  was 
another  matter:  there  was  a  heaping  peck  of  common 
sense  in  that,  he  allowed ;  and  he  did  his  share  of  it 
with  the  cheerful  alertness  of  a  watch-dog.  Meanwhile 
he  was  entirely  practical  in  it ;  he  posted  himself  be- 
hind a  rock,  or  a  bush,  and  "  peeked  "  over  it  with 
his  gun  cocked ;  and  it  would  have  required  a  suit  of 
steel  armor  to  cross  his  range  unharmed.  One  night 
he  fired,  and  the  result  was  death — to  a  hog. 

"  Oh,  I  reckonized  the  creetur  plain  enough," 
narrated  Abner  to  the  corporal.  **  But,  durn  him,  I 
did  n't  feel  so  'nation  sure  what  was  inside  his  brussels ; 
it  might  'a'  been  a  lobster  or  a  rifleman.  The  Injuns 
useter  play  that  game  on  sentries  in  my  dad's  time. 


Abner  as  a  Trooper  177 

Anyhow  we  '11  have  spare-rib  for  dinner.  The  Tories 
need  n't  send  their  hogs  spyin'  'round  our  ambushes." 

But  erelong  the  monotony  and  constraint  of  camp 
life  became  insupportable  to  this  provincial  Nimrod ; 
this  proprietor  in  fee  simple  of  forty  acres  of  "  plough 
land,  medder,  and  huckleberry  paster  "  ;  this  free-born 
Anelo-Saxon  whose  freedom  had  luxuriated  into  con- 
tinental  wildness.  His  talk  lost  its  queer,  humorous 
turns  and  picturesque  figures  of  speech.  His  lean  and 
limber  jaws  ceased  to  drawl  forth  those  whimsical  ex- 
aggerations which  Englishmen  have  learned  to  wonder 
at  and  adore  under  the  name  of  Yankee  stories.  He 
began  to  brood  and  to  look  dyspeptically  surly,  like  a 
dog  who  has  been  too  steadily  chained  to  his  kennel. 

"  I  'm  disappinted,"  he  complained  to  his  captain, 
a  tall,  raw-boned  man  with  mild  blue  eyes  and  a  clerical 
smile.  "  I  s'posed  we  sh'd  be  lurkin'  'round  the 
British  'n'  pickin'  'em  off  day  'n'  night.  I  expect  I 
shall  quit  to-morrer.     Thought  I  'd  mention  it." 

Now  the  captain  had  just  received  from  headquarters 
some  severe  orders  (which,  by  the  way,  he  profoundly 
disapproved  of)  establishing  punishments  for  wander- 
ing from  camp  without  leave.  Accordingly  it  was  ex- 
plained to  Private  Sly  that,  if  he  went  off  as  he 
proposed,  he  would  be  brought  back  by  force,  and 
get  thirty  lashes. 

"  Y'  don't  say !  "  Abner  gasped,  elevating  his  almost 
invisible  eyebrows  and  dropping  his  narrow  lower  jaw. 
Presently  he  added,  "  Wal! — then  I  guess  I  '11  list  in 
the  troop,  if  there  is  one.  I  could  stick  a  sight  longer 
there,  for  I  allays  did  like  bosses." 

"  But  that  will  be  thirty  lashes  too,"  the  captain 
sighed.     "  You   can't  run    about    from    company  to 


lyS  A  Lover's  Revolt 

company.  Had  n't  you  better  try  to  feel  contented, 
Farmer  Sly  ?  You  're  a  landholder  and  a  voter,  and 
you  don't  want  to  be  seized  up." 

Abner  walked  slowly  to  his  wigwam,  and  sat  there 
for  many  minutes  in  silence,  with  elbows  on  knees  and 
face  between  his  hands,  eventually  exclaiming  in  a 
high  thin  voice,  **  By — gum!  and  this  is  fighting  for 
freedom!  " 

Then  came  another  fit  of  gloomy  torpor,  which  lasted 
till  Corporal  Eliphalet  Muzzy  put  him  to  bed  and 
prayed  him  to  sleep.  He  had  not  even  been  able  to 
smile  when  told  that  a  foraging  party  to  one  of  the 
islands  in  the  Bay  had  brought  away  twenty  hogs,  and 
tarred  and  feathered  a  Tory. 

The  next  day  he  felt  too  feeble  to  drill,  and  tramped 
three  miles  to  lay  his  case  before  a  surgeon,  who  told 
him  he  was  homesick  and  refused  to  excuse  him  from 
duty.  On  the  day  following  he  was  really  ill,  and  be- 
lieved that,  if  he  could  not  get  home,  at  least  for  a  few 
minutes,  he  should  die.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
could  scarcely  stagger  to  his  feet  when  Muzzy  informed 
him  that  Captain  Farnlee  was  outside  and  wanted  to 
see  him. 

Oh,  Cap-ting  !  "  he  whined  in  a  lamentable 
soprano,  shambling  forth  all  doubled  up,  with  his  fists 
pressed  into  his  abdomen.  "I  'm  most  awfully 
smashed  to  bits,  Cap-ting.  I  dunno  what  in  natur  ails 
me.     If  I  could  only  git  hum!  " 

Ash  laughed  with  the  hard-hearted  scorn  of  a  sound 
soldier  for  a  complaining  one.  "  That  's  just  what  I 
want  of  you,"  he  said.     "  I  want  you  to  go  home." 

"You  dew/"  exclaimed  Abner,  straightening  up 
and  getting  his  color  back  in  a  breath. 


Abner  as  a  Trooper  179 

**  Yes;  go  home  and  get  your  horse.  The  General 
wants  some  good  riders  to  carry  messages;  I  have  had 
you  put  on  the  list  for  the  squadron." 

Three  days  later  Abner  had  .finished  a  brief  visit 
home,  and  was  on  duty  at  Cambridge  as  a  private  in 
Ward's  troop  of  orderlies.  The  commandant  thereof 
was  Lieutenant  Brallaghan,  an  Irishman  who  called 
himself  an  Englishman  and  spoke  the  Anglo-Saxon  of 
Dublin.  He  had  been  discharged  within  a  twelve- 
month from  the  British  army,  after  a  service  of  four- 
teen years  which  he  had  concluded  as  a  sergeant.  His 
height  and  size,  his  herculean  chest  and  limbs,  his 
trooperish  strut,  and  straddle,  and  swagger,  corre- 
sponded nobly  with  the  martial  expression  of  his  huge 
aquiline  face,  reddened  and  diversified  all  over  by 
smallpox.  Of  course  he  had  his  wounds;  and  in  sore 
truth  he  was  a  grievously  scarred  veteran,  his  broad 
back  preserving  the  marks  of  several  hundred  lashes. 
Many  soldiers  in  those  disciplined  times  lost  more 
blood  at  the  hands  of  the  drummer  than  at  the  hands 
of  the  enemy. 

He  was  such  a  splendid  creature,  so  upright,  and 
mighty,  and  lofty,  and  high-stepping,  that  Abner  fell 
in  love  with  him  at  first  sight  and  told  him  he  looked 
every  inch  a  soldier.  The  Lieutenant  did  not  return 
the  compliment ;  and  with  regard  to  Dobbin  he  was 
profanely  contemptuous. 

Can  that  dam'  runt  get  over  anything  ?  "  he  en- 
quired in  a  hoarse  bellow. 

"  He  can  git  over  forty  or  fifty  mile  of  territory  as 
slick  as  grease,"  asserted  Abner. 

"  At  one  jump  ?  "  demanded  Brallaghan. 

Abner  burst  into  a  spasm  of  thin,  jerky  laughter,  and 


i8o  A  Lover's  Revolt 

decided  that  the  Lieutenant  was  "  a  'nation  good 
feller." 

Next  morning  Brallaghan  took  a  training  squad  into 
a  meadow  near  headquarters.  Several  trenches  had 
been  dug  there,  varying  in  breadth  from  six  feet  to 
twelve.  The  troopers,  who  were  all  New  Englanders, 
perfectly  accustomed  to  galloping  over  stony  fields  and 
through  forests,  but  knowing  nothing  of  leaping  ob- 
stacles, stared  about  them  with  the  fearless  curiosity 
of  innocence.  Brallaghan  drew  up  his  line  facing  the 
narrowest  trench,  and,  posting  himself  in  front  of  it, 
bellowed  as  follows:  "  Now,  thin,  if  ye  was  crossin*  a 
field,  an'  should  come  to  such  a  ditch  as  that,  what 
wud  ye  do  ?  " 

Our  friend  Abner,  always  ready  to  discourse,  and 
feeling  intimate  with  the  Lieutenant,  replied  cheer- 
fully, **  Scoot  'round  it." 

"  No  ye  would  n't,"  shouted  Brallaghan,  "  not  if  I 
was  after  ye,  or  any  other  lively  man.  Well,  now,  I  '11 
show  ye  what  to  do." 

He  wheeled,  struck  spurs  into  his  horse,  and,  dash- 
ing up  to  the  trench,  went  over  it  superbly.  Then  he 
faced  about,  straightened  himself  in  the  saddle,  and 
commanded,  *'  Now,  thin,  Private  Sly,  forward!  full 
speed !  " 

Private  Sly  advanced  softly  a  length  or  so,  rose  in 
his  stirrups,  took  a  long  look  at  the  trench,  grinned 
like  an  anxious  monkey,  and  enquired,  "  Haow  wide 
is  it?" 

"  Ownly  afadom." 

"  Only  what  ?" 

"  Six  foot,"  shouted  Brallaghan,  beginning  to  red- 
den in  all  his  pock-marks. 


Abner  as  a  Trooper  i8i 

**  Six  foot!  "  protested  Abner.  "  Why  did  n't  ye 
make  it  six  rod  ?  " 

"Come!  get  over  it!"  bellowed  the  Lieutenant, 
drawing  his  sabre.  *'  Do  you  want  me  to  thrash  you 
across  ?     Sargint,  start  that  man's  hoss  for  him." 

The  sergeant,  an  American  who  had  not  yet  learned 
to  be  a  disciplinarian,  remonstrated,  or  rather  pleaded, 
''  Try  it,  Abner." 

"  Try  it  yerself,"  grumbled  Abner. 

"  Sly!  areyecomin'  ?"  yelled  Brallaghan.  '*  Knock 
him  off  his  horse,  Sargint!  " 

The  sergeant  partially  unsheathed  his  sabre,  and 
Abner  desperately  lashed  Dobbin  forward.  But  within 
six  feet  of  the  trench  he  pulled  up  with  a  shrill  IV/ioa  ! 
leaning  back  in  the  saddle  and  staring  affrightedly  at 
Brallaghan. 

*'  I  could  do  it  afoot,"  he  bawled.  "  Don't  git 
mad,  Square!  " 

"  I  '11  Square  ye,"  howled  the  old  soldier,  thoroughly 
infuriated  by  this  civic  title,  although  it  was  meant  to 
flatter  and  pacificate  him. 

Abner  saw  him  coming,  flaming  with  brandished 
steel ;  he  fully  expected  (as  he  afterwards  gayly  and 
even  conceitedly  narrated)  to  be  whittled  into  coarse 
hash;  and,  wheeling  Dobbin,  he  fled  with  neck  ex- 
tended and  fins  flapping,  like  a  goose  prophesying 
rain.  It  was  his  purpose  to  desert  instanter,  though 
he  should  have  to  abandon  farm  and  wife,  and  lurk  for 
years  in  untrodden  wildernesses. 

But  there  was  only  one  entrance  to  the  meadow,  and 
Brallaghan  dexterously  cut  him  off  from  that.  Round 
and  round  the  lot  they  careered ;  the  fugitive  lashing 
his  horse,  and  the  pursuer  spurring  and  hooting  Hke 


i82  A  Lovers  Revolt 

the  Wild  Huntsman;  while  the  other  recruits  watched 
the  chase  with  a  hysterical,  egoistic  mixture  of  horror 
and  amusement.  Abner  caught  a  glimpse  of  them 
grinning  after  him ;  and  he  thought  them  as  selfish  as 
Sin,  and  as  hard-hearted  as  ApoUyon;  even  in  his 
mortal  terror  he  hated  them.  At  last,  seeing  that 
whirling  sabre  gaining  on  him,  and  "  scrooching  "  to 
escape  decapitation,  he  brought  Dobbin  up  in  rear  of 
the  squad,  stampeded  it  out  of  his  way,  and  went  bang 
over  the  trench  with  a  fathom  to  spare. 

"  Bravo  !"  thundered  Brallaghan.  "  Well  done, 
Private  Sly!     Now,  thin,  next  man;  Mixer!  " 

Abner  grinned,  not  with  pleasure  over  the  Lieuten- 
ant's applause,  but  with  the  spiritual  anguish  of  a 
creature  who  believes  that  he  has  narrowly  escaped 
death.  Trembling  in  limb  and  feature,  he  silently 
watched  the  balkings  and  leapings  of  his  comrades,  a 
little  comforted  by  their  frights,  and  the  bad  language 
which  they  got  for  the  same,  but  feeling  under  all  ex- 
ceedingly unforgiving.  One  after  another  they  cleared 
the  trench,  down  to  a  pug-nosed  youngster  who  begged 
Brallaghan  to  kill  him  outright  and  not  force  him  to 
commit  suicide,  but  whose  beast  carried  him  over  like 
a  whirlwind  under  the  storm  and  stress  of  broadsword 
slapping.  Neither  biped  nor  quadruped  could  with- 
stand the  old  dragoon's  clamorous  and  concussive  per- 
suasiveness. 

There  was  a  second  round,  and  several  of  the  riders 
took  very  kindly  to  the  exercise,  especially  the  pug- 
nosed  hobbledehoy,  the  youngest  of  all.  But  Abner 
Sly  was  not  one  of  those  who  got  elated  with  jumping 
and  wanted  to  jump  more. 

"  That  creetur  '11  kill  us  all,  if  we  '11  let  him,"  was 


Abner  as  a  Trooper  183 

his  belief.     "  He  jest  enjoys  bullyin'  folks,  an*  scarin' 
'em  to  death,  an'  breakin'  their  necks." 

Exercise  over,  he  went  straight  to  the  quarters  of 
the  commander-in-chief,  resolved  to  rid  the  army  of 
Brallaghan.  A  negro  servant,  very  likely  a  slave,  re- 
ceived him  with  pompous  indifference,  and  told  him 
that  the  General  was  not  at  home. 

"  I  s'pose  he  never  is  to  hum  when  a  poor  sojer 
wants  to  see  him,"  Abner  grumbled,  or  rather  whim- 
pered. 

He  shambled  back  to  barracks,  purposing  to  make 
his  complaint  later.  It  was  a  warm  day;  the  men 
were  lounging  about  with  their  coats  off,  and  Abner 
removed  his,  as  well  as  his  shoes  and  stockings.  He 
was  in  this  costume,  sitting  on  the  head  of  a  cider  barrel 
and  gnawing  at  a  raw  turnip,  when  an  officer  in  green 
uniform  passed  in  front  of  him,  strolling  toward  head- 
quarters. This  officer  was  an  elderly  man,  broad  in 
the  chest  and  very  muscular,  with  a  round,  sunburnt 
face  and  curly,  silver-gray  hair.  He  glanced  at  Abner 
with  an  absent-minded  smile,  the  smile  one  sees  on 
the  marble  lips  of  a  bust  of  Vespasian,  the  expression 
of  a  man  lifting  a  heavy  weight.  It  was  "  Old  Put," 
attired  in  his  veteran  rifle-suit,  and  pondering  over 
the  lack  of  powder  in  the  American  magazines. 

Abner  guessed  that  this  was  a  general,  and  he  knew 
that  generals  ought  to  be  saluted,  but  he  had  vague 
ideas  as  to  the  proper  form  of  such  salutation.  With- 
out getting  off  his  barrel,  or  ceasing  to  drum  his  naked 
heels  against  it,  he  raised  his  turnip  to  his  forehead 
and  brought  it  down  to  his  mouth  again.  Putnam 
surveyed  him  smilingly,  lifted  his  cocked  hat  as  if  in 
irony,  and  tramped  ponderously  on  his  way. 


184  A  Lover's  Revolt 

In  the  next  instant  Abner  felt  himself  hoisted  from 
behind  by  a  powerful  hand  which  gripped  his  coarse 
linen  neck-band.  Then  he  became  aware  that  he  was 
in  the  clutch  of  Lieutenant  Brallaghan,  and  was  being 
shaken  about  the  parade-ground  as  though  he  were 
merely  stuffed  with  straw. 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  salute  a  general  officer  ?" 
growled  the  martinet,  as  a  panther  might  growl  to  a 
captive  possum.  "  In  yer  shirt-sleeves!  Sitting  on 
a  barrel!  Eating  a  turnip  !  Stand  up  there,  sir,  an' luck 
at  me.     This  is  the  way  to  salute  an  officer." 

And  the  ex-sergeant  went  through  the  performance 
as  if  he  were  a  high-born  cavalier  doing  noble  reverence 
to  his  cousin  the  king. 

"  Now,  sir,  let  me  see  you  do  that,"  he  ordained. 
"  And  now,  sir"  (when  Abner  had  done  his  slinking 
best),  "  Ged  dem  you,  sir!  go  to  your  quarters  and 
put  on  your  uniform — your  clothes,  I  mane.  And  let 
me  tell  you,  sir,  Ged  dem  you,  sir!  that  if  I  ever 
catch  you  again  saluting  an  officer  from  a  barrel, 
you  '11  get  thirty  lashes  across  that  very  barrel,  Ged 
dem  you,  sir!  " 

As  long  as  Abner  lived  he  never  sat  down  on  a  barrel 
without  calling  to  mind  the  affright  and  ignominy  of 
this  interview.  Without  stopping  to  pick  up  his  rem- 
nant of  turnip,  he  tottered  away  to  his  shanty,  and 
put  on  his  coat  and  shoes.  But  he  was  not  yet  disci- 
plined in  spirit,  and,  having  learned  that  the  general 
in  green  uniform  was  that  popular  hero,  Old  Put,  he 
resolved  to  complain  to  him  of  this  man-eating  Bralla- 
ghan. 

The  rustic  veteran,  seated  on  a  rush-bottomed  chair 
in  General  Ward's  portico,  looked  up  pleasantly  when 


Abner  as  a  Trooper  185 

he  saw  before  him  a  fairly  spruce  soldier  who  saluted 
him  with  unusual  smartness. 

"  Ginral!  "  began  Abner  with  the  abruptness  of  just 
indignation,  "  I  was  promoted  into  the  calvary  yes'r- 
day,  an'  now  I  'd  like  to  git  back  into  the  infantry." 

"  Oh,  you  're  in  the  troop,"  returned  Putnam  in  the 
countrified  tone  and  dialect  which  he  always  assumed 
when  talking  with  humble  people.  "  You  're  under 
Leftenant  Brallaghan." 

''  1  be /  ''  said  Abner  with  the  injured  sternness  of  a 
saint  who  has  been  put  into  purgatory  by  mistake. 
"  An'  I  'd  ruther  be  under  Beelzebub." 

"  Oh,  oh!  tut,  tut!"  answered  Putnam,  apparently 
reproving  the  spiritual  recklessness  of  the  remark, 
rather  than  its  insubordination.  "  What  's  yer  name  ? 
Abner  Sly,  eh  ?  Well,  that  *s  a  good  name;  that  in- 
dicates sconce,  I  knew  some  Slys  once.  They  were 
peart  hunters — wonderful  peart  hunters.  Well,  Abner, 
what  's  the  trouble  ?  " 

Abner  stated  his  case  from  his  own  point  of  view, 
being  comfortably  incapable  of  discerning  any  other. 
He  had  saluted  the  General  the  best  he  knew  how, 
whereupon  the  Lieutenant  had  half  strangled  him, 
shaken  him  all  around  the  lot,  and  threatened  him 
with  thirty  lashes.  The  tears  came  into  his  eyes  and 
voice  as  he  spoke. 

"  'N'  by  gum  !  "  he  concluded,  "  if  he  shakes  me  like 
that  once  more,  there  won't  be  enough  left  of  me  to 
take  thirty  lashes." 

"  Well,  he  was  pretty  sudden  with  ye,  was  n't  he, 
Abner  ?  "  sympathized  the  General  in  his  flat,  kindly 
monotone,  still  retaining  his  mechanical,  forced,  and 
worried  smile,  as  though  he  were  thinking  of  the  empty 


1 86  A  Lover's  Revolt 

American    magazines  rather  than  of  the  case  before 
him. 

"  Sudden  ? — yes!  I  sh'd  say  so!  Though  he  don't 
leave  off  s'  quick  's  he  ketches  holt.  I  *m  kind  o* 
spry-tempered  myself.  But  I  never  seen  nobody  afore 
who  had  s'  little  self-control  's  this  man.  He  biles 
over  a  mile  from  the  fire.  An'  then  he  's  the  hashest 
creetur,  Ginral!  Why,  he  reely  ain't  safe  to  have  in 
the  camp.  He  '11  kill  more  of  that  troop  than  the  red- 
coats will;  an'  p'rhaps  that  's  what  he  's  jined  us  for. 
He  's  got  some  ditches  out  there  to  larn  us  to  jump, 
an'  he  put  me  at  one  that  was  six  foot  over,  every 
'tarnal  inch  on  't.  Wal,  I  admit,  Ginral,  that  I  did  n't 
want  to  jump  it  at  fust  sight,  's  you  may  say.  I 
wanted  to  git  acquainted  with  it,  an'  try  at  it  a  few 
times  in  my  mind,  an'  eddicate  myself  up  to  it  gradu- 
ally. But  darn  my  skin  if  he  did  n't  whip  out  his 
cutlash,  an'  hunt  me  all  reound  the  medder,  an'  finally 
skeer  me  slap  over." 

Old  Put  could  keep  his  gravity  no  longer.  He  bent 
forward,  grasped  his  thick  knees  with  his  broad  hands, 
and  roared  out  a  farmer's  hearty  laugh. 

Say,  Abner,"  he  queried,  "do  ye  know  what 
I  'd  do  if  he  should  come  at  me  with  his  cleaver  and 
order  me  to  jump  that  ditch  ?  " 

Give  him  thirty  lashes  ?  "  suggested  Abner,  hope- 
fully. 

No!  I  should  n't  dast  stop  to  think  on  't.  I 
should  git  over  that  ditch,  somehow,  quicker  *n 
powder." 

Our  grumbler  began  to  divine  that  Lieutenant  Bral- 
laghan  was  not  going  to  be  punished  for  his  suddenness 
and  his,  harshness. 


Abner  as  a  Trooper  187 

*'  Abner,"  resumed  the  General,  "  I  had  an  awful 
unpleasant  man  to  work  for  me  once ;  oh,  he  was  an 
awful  tough  man  to  bear  with.  But  that  man  knew  a 
lot-full  of  things  that  I  wanted  to  know ;  and  so  I  put 
up  with  all  his  temper  and  impudence  till  I  'd  larned 
them ;  and  then  we  parted  company  the  friendliest  we 
could.  Now  here  's  this  leftenant  knows  all  about 
troopering,  and  he  reely  wants  to  larn  it  to  ye,  and 
it  's  very  important  that  ye  should  larn  it,  and  larn  it 
as  quick  as  may  be.  It  's  important  to  yerself  and  im- 
portant to  the  army.  Why,  supposin'  there  's  a  battle 
to-morrow,  and  you  are  carrying  orders  for  Ginral 
Ward,  and  there  's  half  a  dozen  British  dragoons  after 
ye,  and  a  six-foot  ditch  ahead  ?  Now  I  guess  ye  could 
jump  it;  but  yesterday  ye  would  n't  'a*  dast  try;  ye  'd 
*a'  been  caught  and  the  orders  seized.  I  know  the 
Leftenant  is  hash ;  I  've  noticed  it.  But  there  ain't 
much  time  to  spare ;  the  Leftenant  wants  ye  to  git 
yer  lessons  right  off;  he  wants  ye  to  take  notice,  and 
not  be  all  day  about  it.  And  had  n't  you  better  be 
lively  and  zealous  ?  D'  ye  ever  try,  Abner,  to  plough 
back'ards — look  one  way  and  plough  t'  other  ?  " 

"  'T  would  n't  take  a  plough  'crost  the  lot  very 
straight,"  conceded  our  agricultural  cavalryman. 

"  Well,  then,  don't  make  war  that  way.  Look  the 
same  way  ye  drive.  Put  in  yer  best  good-will.  Be 
the  heartiest  soldier  in  the  camp.  That  's  what  the 
Leftenant  wants  of  ye;  and  that  's  what  the  province 
wants  of  ye;  yes,  and  the  Ginral  Congress.  I  wish, 
Abner — lordy,  lordy,  how  I  do  wish  it ! — that  I  had  as 
good  a  teacher  in  my  duties  as  you  have  in  yourn." 

The  veteran's  absent-minded  smile  returned  to  his 
lips,  and  Abner  inferred  from  it  that  he  was  at  liberty 


1 88  A  Lover's  Revolt 

to  depart.  He  had  saluted  when  he  came,  and  now 
he  saluted  again,  though  he  was  shamefaced  about  it 
to  the  point  of  spiritual  anguish. 

"  That  's  right,"  said  Old  Put,  slightly  raising  his 
brown  right  hand  in  response.  "  Now  do  that  to  the 
Leftenant,  if  you  meet  him.  I  '11  bet  a  pumkin-pie 
he  won't  shake  ye  for  it.** 

Then,  as  Abner  straddled  away,  the  Vespasianic 
smile  followed  him  with  an  air  of  sympathy  and  pity. 
"  Oh,  for  powder!  *'  muttered  the  General.  "  If  Gage 
should  conie  out,  he  could  destroy  us.  And  these 
poor  boys,  who  think  it  so  hard  to  be  shaken  a  bit, 
how  they  would  be  mowed  down  and  bayoneted !  " 

Abner,  marching  pensively  back  to  his  quarters,  en- 
countered the  awful  Brallaghan  and  saluted  him. 

**  Very  well!"  cried  the  Lieutenant,  sincerely  grati- 
fied. "  Just  one  thing  lacking,  though.  Ye  should 
'a'  lucked  me  straight  in  th'  oye.  Now  remimber  that 
nex'  time;  luck  me  straight  in  the  oye.  By  Jupiter! 
you  '11  make  a  soldier  yet;  an'  your  wild  horse  can 
jump,  too,  fat  as  he  is." 


CHAPTER   XIX 
ABNER  AS  A   FORAGER 

IT  would  be  tedious  to  narrate  all  Abner's  adventures 
in  carrying  official  messages  and  orders.  Those 
documents  were  many,  but  for  a  time  they  brought 
about  nothing  of  importance,  not  even  to  so  trivial  a 
creature  as  Private  Sly. 

The  Americans  could  not  attack  Boston  for  lack  of 
ammunition,  and  the  English  dared  not  sally  upon 
Cambridge  for  lack  of  a  sufficient  number  of  troops. 
Thus  both  General  Artemas  Ward  and  General  Thomas 
Gage  were  much  at  a  loss  as  to  how  they  could  carry 
on  war  against  each  other. 

But  eventually  it  occurred  to  Ward  that  he  might 
possibly  starve  out  Gage  if  he  should  cut  off  his  sup- 
plies. An  American  mosquito  fleet  was  begun  with  a 
view  to  capturing  British  transports  and  merchantmen ; 
and  bodies  of  provincials  were  sent  to  strip  the  neigh- 
boring Massachusetts  shores  of  poultry,  sheep,  cattle, 
and  other  provant. 

Thus  it  happened  that,  toward  the  end  of  May, 
1775,  Trooper  Sly  bore  a  letter  to  Colonel  Gerrish  at 
Chelsea,  directing  him  to  send  a  foraging  party  to 
Hog  and  Noddle  Islands;  and,  as  Abner  considered 
himself  a  sort  of  staff-ofificer,  and  was  moreover  very 
fond  of  adventures  which  promised  fun  and  spare-ribs, 
he  remained  to  take  part  in  the  expedition.     The  re- 

189 


190  A  Lover's  Revolt 

suit  was  that  he  once  more  came  into  collision  with 
the  armed  might  of  the  mother  country.  While  the 
Yankees  were  wringing  the  neck  of  the  last  Hog  Island 
turkey,  and  running  down  the  final  representative  of 
its  slab-sided,  light-footed,  loud-squealing  swine,  a 
fleet  of  launches  slid  spectrally  through  the  morning 
mist,  and  landed  a  swarm  of  Britons  bent  upon  butch- 
ery and  breakfast. 

Hog  Island  rang  with  the  clatter  and  shouting  of  a 
protracted  skirmish.  The  Americans,  who  had  more 
poultry  than  bullets,  were  soon  driven  over  to  the 
mainland  ;  but  there,  cheered  by  re-enforcements  under 
Putnam  and  Warren,  they  renewed  the  combat.  The 
old  hero  of  Pomfret,  eager  to  get  at  close  grapple  with 
the  enemy,  waded  nearly  up  to  his  middle  in  the  slimy 
shallows,  an  audacious  feat  for  a  man  of  fifty-seven 
years  who  must  have  known  something  of  rheumatism. 

Erelong  a  couple  of  English  gunboats  sounded  their 
way  up  the  green  waters  of  the  Bay,  and  added  their 
four-pound  thunder  to  what  General  Burgoyne  might 
have  called  "  the  horror  and  importance  of  the  scene." 
One  of  them  got  aground,  and  was  cannonaded  to  a 
wreck  and  abandoned.  In  the  end  the  provincials 
scored  a  little  victory,  losing  four  slightly  wounded, 
and  capturing  a  dozen  small  cannon,  or  swivels,  be- 
sides saving  their  forage  of  live  stock.  The  English, 
it  was  cheerfully  reported,  had  twenty  killed  and  fifty 
wounded.  So  encouraging  was  this  skirmish  to  the 
colonies,  and  so  important  did  it  appear  to  the  General 
Congress  at  Philadelphia,  that  Putnam  was  made 
major-general  in  the  as  yet  unorganized  "  continental 
army,"  though  the  commission  did  not  reach  him  till 
after  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill. 


Abner  as  a  Forager  191 

But  there  was  one  missing  Yankee,  and  that  Yankee 
was  Private  Sly.  When  last  seen  by  his  friends  he  was 
in  shirt-sleeves,  clinging  to  the  ears  of  Hog  Island's 
ultimate  porker,  and  so  being  borne  lengthwise,  head- 
foremost, in  the  direction  of  the  as  yet  undiscovered 
British.  It  will  save  time  to  take  up  his  history  some 
hours  later  in  the  quarters  of  Gracious  Majesty's  com- 
mandant at  Boston. 

General  Gage  was  at  this  period  particularly  gloomy 
and  cross.  A  year  previous  he  had  written  to  England 
that  with  two  thousand  disposable  British  bayonets  he 
could  put  down  the  party  of  resistance  in  the  colonies. 
Now  he  had  nearly  five  thousand,  and  he  dared  not 
set  foot  outside  of  the  Barrier,  and  the  Yankees  were' 
bushwhacking  his  sentries.  That  bygone  brag  would 
have  been  afflicting  to  remember,  only  that  he  hardly 
ever  called  it  to  mind.  He  had  enough  to  plague  him 
in  the  present,  without  looking  up  annoyances  in  the 
past. 

"  This  is  a  doosid  pretty  way  to  treat  7ne ! ''  he 
grumbled  to  his  favorite  aid.  "  Here  I  want  infantry, 
artillery,  and  cavalry ;  I  want  ten  thousand  more  men 
at  this  point,  this  very  instant ;  and  what  do  I  get  ? 
The  Cerberus  comes  in  with  a  single  battalion,  and 
three  generals  armed  with  fish-poles.  Howe  and  Clin- 
ton and  Burgoyne  thought  they  had  been  ordered  to  a 
land  of  gentle  peace,  with  Isaak  Walton  for  commander- 
in-chief.  Brought  their  fishing  tackle  with  'em,  begad ! 
as  though  the  Yankees  were  perch  and  mullet.  Good 
Ged,  Moorcastle!  what  does  it  mean  ?  Will  those 
sluggards  at  home  never  wake  up  ?  " 

And  thereupon  he  dictated  the  heads  of  a  communi- 
cation declaring  that  he  must  have  fifteen  thousand 


192  A  Lover's  Revolt 

men  at  Boston,  ten  thousand  at  New  York,  and  seven 
thousand  in  Canada,  or  he  would  not  answer  for  the 
consequences. 

Moorcastle  retired  to  write  out  the  letter,  and  the 
General  went  on  muttering  to  himself:  "  One  bat- 
talion, and  three  generals  with  fish-poles!  Are  the 
grenadiers  to  have  fish-poles  also,  and  carry  their  wums 
in  their  cartridge-boxes  ?  I  wish  I  dared  ask  the 
Secretary  that  question.  Does  he  never  read  my  re- 
ports, I  wonder  ?  Good  Ged !  what  is  the  use  of  a 
ministry,  anyway  ?  A  drumhead  court  martial  would 
manage  public  affairs  a  thousand  times  better.  His 
Majesty  is  outrageously  bubbled  by  those  cursed 
political  quacks  and  tricksters. 

"  And  where  the  doose  is  Eastwold  ?"  he  added, 
bethinking  himself  of  another  grievance,  *'  I  sent 
Eastwold  off  day  before  yesterday — no,  it  was  last 
evening — to  get  some  provisions  and  prisoners.  Why 
don't  he  bring  'em  ?  Come  in  !  "  he  suddenly  bellowed ; 
for  some  one  had  knocked  at  the  door.  Whoever  it 
was,  and  whatever  he  came  about,  the  General  was 
disposed  to  fly  at  him.  But  his  bark,  as  is  usual  with 
vociferous  creatures,  was  worse  than  his  bite.  The 
moment  the  door  opened,  he  gave  a  grunt  which  signi- 
fied that  he  meant  to  have  patience,  and  sat  down  in 
his  most  comforting  elbow-chair  to  listen. 

The  officer  who  entered  was  quite  a  young  man,  the 
junior  aid  at  general  headquarters,  Lieutenant  Gordon 
Eastwold.  In  person  he  was  of  a  type  which  is  so 
common  in  England  that  it  has  been  selected  by  French 
caricaturists  to  represent  the  Anglais.  He  was  tall  and 
slender,  with  rather  narrow  shoulders,  a  long  and  small- 
ish head,  a  reddish-blond  skin,  an  aquiHne  profile,  mild 


Abner  as  a  Forager  193 

blue  eyes,  a  retreating  chin,  and  an  embarrassed  man- 
ner. His  uniform  was  daubed  from  heels  to  collar 
with  mud,  and  he  glanced  at  it  with  an  expression  of 
shamefaced  apology. 

The  general  compassionated  him,  and  began  his 
catechism  leniently.  "  Well,  Mr.  Eastwold,  any 
prisoners  ?" 

"  Ah — yes — one.  General,"  said  the  Lieutenant  in  a 
stammer  which  one  might  judge  to  be  habitual  with 
him.  **  But  I  am  not  so  very  sure  that  he  is  one  of 
their — their  military.  He  was  in  shirt-sleeves ;  and  he 
says  he  belongs  there — on  the  island,  I  mean." 

**  No  prisoners!"  the  commandant  grumbled  and 
whimpered  in  a  tenuous,  plaintive  voice. 

Eastwold  winked  as  though  somebody  had  struck  at 
him.  It  was  obvious  that  he  was  sensitive,  and  that 
he  knew  he  was  not  a  favorite,  like  the  Honorable 
Captain  Moorcastle. 

**  I  wanted  some  prisoners,"  repeated  the  General, 
plaintively.  **  I  wish  the  men  would  n't  bayonet 
those  beggars  as  they  do.  It  makes  the  Yankees  run 
like  the  devil,  or  fight  like  the  devil.  Why,  good 
Ged,  I  'm  in  awful  need  of  prisoners,"  he  insisted, 
getting  up  and  tramping  about  the  room.  "  I  can't 
obtain  any  information  that  I  can  rely  upon.  These 
loyalists  tell  me  what  they  hope,  and  what  they  fear, 
as  if  it  were  all  fact ;  they  are  no  more  worth  listening 
to  than  an  old  maid  who  thinks  she  has  been  chased 
by  a  grenadier.  Why,  what  rubbish  and  ravelings 
that  Hutchinson  used  to  spin  off  to  me!  I  want 
prisoners!  Demme,  I  must  put  a  stop  to  this  incon- 
siderate and  stupid  bayoneting.  I  do  believe  the 
majority  of  the  men  who  practise  it  are  bloody  pol- 


194  A  Lover's  Revolt 

troons  who  halt  to  finish  a  wounded  man  because  they 
are  afraid  to  go  ahead  and  collar  a  sound  one.  Re- 
mind me  to  issue  an  order  on  this  subject." 

The  veteran  was  thoroughly  sulky  over  his  disap- 
pointment as  to  getting  captives  and  information.  He 
scowled  at  the  staff-officer  without  seeing  him  any 
more  than  if  he  had  been  a  formless  ghost.  The 
young  fellow  imagined  that  he  was  being  censured,  and 
his  long,  mild  face  showed  a  spasmodic  grimace  of 
trouble.  He  was  too  much  worried  to  perceive  that 
the  burly  commandant,  strutting  mechanically  up  and 
down  in  his  gorgeous  uniform,  was  at  least  as  worried 
a  man  as  himself. 

"Well — you  got  some  supplies?"  his  Excellency 
grunted. 

**  Only  one — one  beast.  General, — a  swine,"  the  aid 
stammered  with  a  humble  smile.  "  He  was  captured 
with  the  man,"  he  added,  eager  to  say  something,  no 
matter  what,  to  delay  the  storm  of  reprimand  which 
he  feared  was  coming.  "The — the  fact  is,  they — they 
both  ran  into  us — in  quite  a  peculiar  manner."  And 
the  narrator,  glancing  at  his  soiled  clothing,  blushed 
painfully. 

One — hog  !  "  roared  the  disgusted  General,  glaring 
at  poor  Eastwold  as  though  he  meant  Jihn.  "  That  's 
a  doosid  pretty  return  of  results !  Did  we  get  the  whole 
of  him  ?  or  only  a  part  ? — Well,  what  did  we  lose  ?  " 

"  A  small  gunboat,  which  ran  aground,  and  perhaps 
twenty  killed  and  wounded." 

The  General  merely  scowled  and  sat  down,  as  though 
he  were  dizzy,  or  as  though  the  enormity  of  the  failure 
had  stricken  him  dumb. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Eastwold,"  he  presently  added  with  a 


Abner  as  a  Forager  195 

moan,  "  send  him  in  here;  I  don't  mean  the  hog, — 
the  man !  " 

The  aid  took  this  detail  of  instruction  for  a  satire 
upon  his  own  understanding,  and  retired  with  a  look 
of  scared  humiliation  which  the  General  would  have 
compassionated,  if  generals  in  those  days  could  have 
noticed  such  trifles. 

Presently  lank  and  gawky  Abner  Sly,  coatless  and 
tattered  and  dirty,  was  ushered  in  by  a  spick-and-span 
grenadier,  the  cleanest  soldier  on  that  day's  guard.  A 
truly  beautiful  man  of  war  he  was,  six  feet  high  and 
shapely  throughout,  with  the  loveliest  pink  and  white 
complexion,  features  of  Hellenic  mould,  and  hazel 
eyes  full  of  light  and  tenderness.  He  saluted,  and 
Private  Sly  came  near  saluting  also,  but  remembered 
himself  in  time,  and  made  a  rustic  scrape. 

For  Abner,  when  captured,  had  sought  to  escape  by 
means  of  a  lie,  without  being  conscious  that  it  was  a 
lie,  such  was  his  fright  and  confusion  of  spirit.  He 
had  claimed  in  voluble  haste  that  he  was  a  resident  of 
Hog  Island,  and  that  the  porker  whereon  he  rode  was 
his  own  property,  which  he  was  trying  to  save  from  the 
rebels.  The  fib  once  told,  he  was  like  a  man  who  has 
made  a  bargain  with  Satan :  he  had  a  comrade  that 
haunted  and  afflicted  and  scared  him ;  a  comrade  that 
would  not  be  got  rid  of. 

Well,  sirrah!  where  's  your  uniform  ?"  demanded 
the  General.  "  What  business  have  you  to  be  fighting 
the  king's  troops  in  citizen  toggery  ? " 

Abner  made  a  struggle  to  rally  his  courage  and  his 
wits ;  he  must  recollect  that  he  was  a  native-born  Hog 
Islander. 

"  Ginral,  I  warn't  fighting;  I  was  arter  my  shoat," 


196  A  Lover's  Revolt 

he  managed  to  stammer.  But  his  very  lack  of  self- 
possession,  coupled  with  his  natural  gavvkiness,  gave 
him  an  air  of  veracity  and  innocence. 

**  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  you  rogue,"  persisted  the 
General,  **  that  you  don't  belong  to  the  rebel  militia  ? " 
I  dew!''  affirmed  Abner.  It  was  a  comfort  to 
him,  even  in  that  awful  moment,  to  perceive  that  he 
was  not  exactly  lying.  The  inquisitor  had  so  framed 
the  question  that  it  could  be  answered  in  the  affirma- 
tive without  literally  stating  an  untruth. 

The  General  did  not  note  his  own  blunder,  nor  divine 
Abner's  prevarication.  The  dawn  of  a  faint  smile 
wrinkled  the  semi-dropsical  setting  of  his  grim,  soldierly 
eyes.  Abner  was  a  typical  Yankee ;  or  rather  he  was  a 
caricature  Yankee,  a  regular  down-east  Yankee  Doodle. 
As  the  stout,  rosy  Englishman  surveyed  that  gaunt, 
lantern-jawed  figure,  he  could  not  help  feeling  a  little 
genial  scorn  of  it,  and  a  desire  to  have  some  fun  out 
of  it. 

"  What  were  you  charging  my  marines  for  ?"  he 
snorted  with  a  transparent  pretence  of  indignation. 

Abner  noted  the  change  in  Gage's  face  and  recovered 
somewhat  of  his  native  cheek.  He  divined  what  was 
expected  of  him  :  he  was  to  make  sport  for  this  grandee 
from  the  motherland ;  to  play  the  part  of  a  colonial 
clown ;  to  be  a  Yankee  Doodle.  Of  course  he  did  not 
hesitate  except  just  so  long  as  was  necessary  to  sum- 
mon up  his  continental  imagination. 

**  Wal,  now,  Ginral,  I  '11  tell  ye  all  abeout  it,"  he 
began.  "  That  grunter  was  mine;  he  was  my  own 
partickler,  lawful  grunter;  I  raised  him  from  a  shoat. 
Wal,  he  was  a  beauty.  I  wish  to  gracious  you  could 
'a'  seen  him,  Ginral ;  wish  't  I  knew  where  he  was  neow. 


Abner  as  a  Forager  197 

He  must  *a'  weighed — wal,  now,  lemme  calc'late  a  bit 
— he  must  'a'  weighed  fourteen  stun." 

Here  Abner,  to  ease  his  conscience,  was  fixing  his 
memory  on  a  porker  which  he  had  really  bred  during 
the  previous  year;  and  the  air  of  abstraction  which 
this  mental  effort  brought  into  his  countenance  gave 
him  the  exact  expression  of  a  painstaking  truth-teller. 

"  Of  course  I  did  n't  hanker  to  lose  any  sech  grunter 
as  that,"  he  continued.  "  And  when  the  rebels  come 
over  to  grab  our  live  stock,  I  put  right  out  without  my 
coat  to  see  if  I  could  save  Joe.  Wal,  they  was  arter 
him,  and  he  was  a-dodgin'  *em  right  'n'  left,  gruntin* 
'n'  blowin'  like  a  porpus.  You  oughter  'a'  seen,  Ginral, 
how  he  laid  'em  out,  fust  one  a-sprawlin',  an*  then 
another.  Why,  that  grunter  jest  outmanoovred  an' 
whipped  half  a  rigiment  of  them  rebels.  An'  then, 
when  he  'd  piled  up  a  haycock  of  'em,  he  'd  look 
around  an'  snort,  as  much  as  to  say,  *  Has  any  of  *em 
got  away  ?  *  " 

The  General  was  grinning  now;  not  because  the 
story  was  very,  very  funny,  but  because  the  man  was 
such  a  Yankee  Doodle !  He  would  have  another  amus- 
ing reminiscence  of  the  Americans  to  relate  at  dinners 
in  London  society,  and  among  the  high-born  people 
who  frequented  the  country-house  of  his  father,  the 
viscount. 

Abner,  on  his  part,  was  amazed  at  his  own  lying 
glibness,  and  had  a  suspicion  that  he  was  possessed  of 
the  devil.  But  a  fearful  necessity  was  upon  him,  and 
he  swept  on  down  the  cataract  of  his  inventions,  feel- 
ing a  little  easier  as  he  approached  the  only  part  of  the 
story  which  was  true. 

"  Wal,  arter  they  'd  gin  him  up,  I  sot  in  to  coax  him 


198  A  Lover's  Revolt 

back  to  the  sty.  But  the  creetur  had  got  wild ;  an' 
when  I  ketched  a  friendly  holt  on  his  ears,  he  bolted ; 
and  as  I  was  determined  not  to  let  go,  we  travelled 
around  a  spell.  I  was  lying  full  along,  face  down  and 
eyes  shet,  when  somebody  lit  on  me  astraddle,  and 
kinder  fell  over  me,  head  towards  the  tail,  an'  rid  a 
while  that  way.  Next  we  three  went  through  a  snarl 
of  men  who  hollered  an'  charged  arter  us  like  good 
sojers;  an'  then  we  two  rolled  off  together,  an'  the 
grunter  kept  on  by  himself  without  stoppin'  to  snicker. 
Wal,  Ginral,  your  honor  may  reckon  I  was  consid'able 
surprised  when  I  found  that  I  'd  bust  into  one  of  your 
rigiments  an'  run  off  with  one  of  your  kurnels.  That 's 
all  there  was  to  it.  No  harm  meant,  an*  not  much 
done.  An'  now,  Ginral,  I  'd  be  most  dreadful  obleeged 
to  ye,  if  ye  'd  send  me  back  to  Hog  Island." 

His  Excellency  stopped  grinning.  To  his  jaded 
mind,  fretted  with  military  responsibilities,  the  Yankee 
Doodle  story  had  not  proved  so  amusing  as  he  had 
hoped.  Moreover,  he  did  not  believe  it;  at  any  rate, 
not  all  of  it.  He  signed  Abner  away  from  him,  and 
signed  the  Apollonian  orderly  to  approach. 

"  Get  this  fellow  drunk,"  he  whispered,  handing  the 
soldier  a  guinea.  "  If  he  lets  out  that  he  is  a  militia- 
man, bring  him  back  to  me." 

"  Am  I  hoff  duty  for  it,  General?"  enquired  the 
man,  saluting;  and,  receiving  a  nod,  he  made  another 
salute,  and  beckoned  Abner  to  follow. 


CHAPTER  XX 


ABNER   AS   A   CAPTIVE 


THE  grenadier,  marching  as  superbly  as  a  duke,  and 
even  a  great  deal  more  superbly,  conducted  Abner 
to  a  little  dirty  tavern  now  extinct,  situated  in  an  alley 
long  since  vanished. 

The  General  told  me  to  give  you  a  good  supper, 
friend,"  he  explained.  "  He  can't  send  you  back  to 
the  heyland  till  to-morrow." 

The    Ginral    's   a   gentleman,"    declared    Abner. 
He  's  jest  as  nice  a  man  's  a  poor  fellah  could  want 
to  meet." 

The  grenadier  made  no  reply,  either  because  he  did 
not  agree  with  the  opinion,  or  because  he  was  wrapt  in 
contemplation  of  the  guinea,  which  he  carried  in  his 
hand  for  lack  of  a  pocket. 

What  might  your  name  be  ?"  enquired  Abner, 
surveying  the  military  automaton  sidelong,  and  wish- 
ing he  were  as  handsome. 

Higg — John  Higg.  It  's  short,  but  it  means  me, 
— the  'ole  of  me."  And  Higg  chuckled  as  a  man  may 
over  a  venerable  joke  which  he  knows  to  be  a  good 
one. 

The  rest  of  the  walk  was  accomplished  in  silence. 
The  grenadier  looked  at  his  guinea,  tested  it  with  the 
tip  of  his  tongue,  and  slapped  it  from  one  palm  to 

199 


200  A  Lover's  Revolt 

the  other.  Abner  was  not  only  troubled  in  mind,  but 
he  was  nearly  speechless  with  hunger  and  fatigue. 
Incredible  as  it  may  seem,  the  moral  anguish  of  telling 
all  those  fibs  to  the  General  had  been  terrible  to  this 
low-bred  specimen  of  a  New  Englander,  and  had  helped 
greatly  to  increase  his  sense  of  mental  and  physical 
exhaustion.  There  was  some  puritanism  in  him,  some 
reverence  for  the  commandments,  some  dread  of  going 
to  hell  for  breaking  them. 

Presently  they  were  in  the  dining-room  of  the  tavern. 
The  landlord,  a  stocky  Httle  Dubliner  who  had  come 
over  as  sutler  to  an  Irish  regiment  (and  who  later 
became  a  lieutenant  in  Crean  Brush's  battalion  of 
"Loyal  Americans"),  gave  the  grenadier  a  rather 
surly  welcome,  but  brightened  up  at  sight  of  the 
guinea. 

'Ave  us  in  a  couple  of  stews,"  said  Higg.     "  Fresh 
beef,  you  hunderstand;  none  of  your  salt  'orse. " 

He  was  pathetically  hungry  himself.  The  British 
soldier  of  that  day,  with  his  one  slice  of  bread  for  sup- 
per, was  often  very  hungry  of  an  evening,  and  if  he 
were  a  young  fellow  and  not  used  to  such  starving, 
sometimes  cried  himself  to  sleep. 

"  And  a  quart  of  Jamaica  rum,"  added  Higg. 
"  None  of  your  cursed  New  England." 

"  No,  none  of  yer  fo'penny  stuff,"  assented  Abner, 
who  was  lighting  a  candle  at  the  fireplace,  for  night 
was  falling. 

He  began  to  like  his  grenadier;  he  wanted  to  pay 
him  a  compliment.  "  You  've  got  a  pooty  good  kaaf 
of  yer  own,"  he  said,  glancing  at  Higg's  noble  lower 
members  and  then  at  his  own  lean  shanks. 

"  Yes,  an'  it 's  been  wittles  an'  drink  to  me.     Many  's 


Abner  as  a  Captive  201 

the  time  them  trotters  has  stood  up  be'ind  a  gentle- 
man's kerridge.  I  wish  they  was  stannin*  up  be'ind 
one  now." 

Abner,  who  had  taken  Higg  for  some  kind  of  a  lord 
reduced  to  the  ranks,  was  surprised  to  hear  him  ex- 
press himself  so  meekly.  "  But  they  can't  straddle 
from  here  there,"  he  suggested,  by  way  of  expressing 
sympathy. 

No,  they  can't,"  admitted  the  grenadier  gloomily. 
He  sighed,  looked  at  his  guinea  by  the  candle-light, 
and  rang  it  on  the  bare  wooden  table.  **  Them  's  the 
jolly  beggars  for  me,"  he  chuckled.  **  I  wish  there  was 
more  of  'em.  They  don't  coin  enough.  There  ain't 
enough  of  'em  in  the  hands  of  the  people." 

"  Do  you  git  paid  in  tkem  ?  "  enquired  Abner,  ogling 
the  gold  piece. 

Not  hoffener  than  once  a  week,"  grinned  Higg, 
who  had  once  been  on  recruiting  duty,  and  remem- 
bered some  of  the  gags  of  that  cajoling  service.  "  I 
say,  ole  bandy-legs,"  he  added  to  the  landlord,  "  let  's 
'ave  some  beer  along  o'  the  stews,  and  the  rum  to  top 
hoff  with." 

He  was  pleasurably  aware  that  Abner  was  gazing  at 
him  with  stupefaction.  Never  in  all  his  life  had  our 
Yankee  seen  any  two-legged  creature,  feathered  or  un- 
feathered,  so  topping  as  this  rooster  of  a  grenadier; 
never  had  he,  franklin  of  forty  acres  though  he  was, 
spoken  to  any  humble  human  being,  not  even  to  a 
pagan  negro  slave,  so  arrogantly  as  Higg  spoke  to  the 
Irish  taverner. 

The  beer  came  in  the  guise  of  a  bottle  of  Dublin 
porter.  The  grenadier  loftily  poured  out  a  foaming 
mug  of  it,  and  pushed  it  across  the  table  to  his  guest, 


202  A  Lovers  Revolt 

saying  genially,  "  Ain't  *e  *ansomely  powdered  ? 
Knock  'is  'ead  hoff  for  'im." 

But  Abner  was  unacquainted  with  this  black  liquor, 
and  consequently  believed  that  he  should  not  like  the 
taste  of  it.  After  surveying  it  for  a  moment,  with  his 
head  on  one  side  like  a  bird,  he  said,  "  Guess  I  '11  leave 
that  to  your  honor.  When  the  rum  happens  along, 
I  '11  know  which  eend  to  catch  holt  of." 

Higg  hesitated,  as  Caesar  did  at  the  Rubicon.  He 
remembered  that  his  duty  was  to  stay  sober,  and  get 
the  Yankee  Doodle  drunk.  But  the  foam  was  going, 
and  he  emptied  the  pewter.  Then  the  smoking 
stews  were  brought  in,  and  the  two  famished  men 
went  at  them  like  lions.  Indeed,  they  had  such  ap- 
petites that  Higg  presently  called  out,  "  Hey,  there, 
bandy-legs!  border  hup  a  seckont  pair  of  the  same 
color." 

At  this  moment  another  soldier  entered,  a  man  as 
ugly  as  John  Higg  was  handsome,  for  his  face  was 
horribly  disfigured  by  smallpox,  and  also  splashed  with 
a  broad  blue  stain,  the  effect  of  a  powder  explosion. 
Higg  greeted  him  boisterously,  and  drawing  him  into 
a  corner  of  the  room,  informed  him  of  his  business 
with  the  Yankee. 

"  Blazes!  "  muttered  the  newcomer.  "  I  wish  old 
Puffy  would  detach  somebody  to  get  me  drunk." 

"  'Op  hup  be'ind!"  replied  Higg,  roaring  a  laugh 
which  showed  his  handsome  teeth.  "  Oh!  Teague 
there!  bile  another  stew  and  crack  another  bottle." 

Then  he  introduced  his  comrade  to  Abner  as  Blue 
Peter,  the  very  best  fellow  in  the  battalion,  not  to  say 
in  the  garrison.  The  American  arose  and  shook  Peter's 
hand  with  an  air  of  respect  which  made  the  two  soldiers 


Abner  as  a  Captive  203 

wink  at  each  other,  as  not  being  used  to  such  civility 
in  their  own  country. 

"  Blue  Peter  is  wuth  it,"  grinned  Higg  as  they  took 
seats.  "  He  's  the  cursedest  rogue  we  *ave.  He  's 
seen  the  world,  Peter  'ave.  He  's  been  most  hevery- 
thing,  hup  to  a  bloody  pirate,  ain't  you,  Peter  ?  " 

"  In  the  South  Seas,"  said  Blue  Peter  in  the  hoarse 
voice  of  a  viking,  and  with  something  of  the  pride  of 
one. 

Abner  surveyed  him  with  a  mixture  of  envy,  respect, 
and  alarm,  wondering  if  he  had  ever  walked  a  plank, 
and  why  he  had  not  been  hung  in  chains. 

Presently  the  stews  arrived,  and  the  trio  fell  to  eating 
heartily,  for  Blue  Peter  was  even  hungrier  than  the 
others,  having  swapped  his  evening  ration  of  bread  for 
a  glass  of  liquor.  Meantime  the  Jamaica  rum  was 
broached,  and  the  drinking  commenced  in  earnest. 
John  Higg,  mindful  of  the  General's  orders,  laid  him- 
self out  to  get  Abner  drunk  and  make  him  blab;  while 
Blue  Peter,  having  no  duty  on  his  conscience,  poured 
down  tumblerful  after  tumblerful  for  his  own  pleasure. 
Two  bottles  vanished,  and  still  the  supposed  rebel  had 
said  nothing  to  incriminate  himself,  so  thoroughly  had 
his  head  been  seasoned  by  years  of  exposure  to  native 
rum  and  cider.  It  was  dreadful  to  John  Higg  to  see 
so  much  liquor  going  down  other  people's  gullets.  He 
roared  for  a  third  bottle  of  rum,  and  commenced  drink- 
ing freely  himself. 

Erelong  they  were  all  three  as  jolly  and  boisterous 
as  men  could  wisely  be  in  Boston,  whether  then  or 
now.  Blue  Peter  sang  a  piratical  love-song  of  a  lachry- 
mose character,  which  naturally  set  Abner  to  singing 
Old    Hundred,   or  the  nearest  he  could  come  to  it. 


204  A  Lover's  Revolt 

John  Higg,  leaning  his  powdered  head  against  the 
wall,  tried  to  beat  time  to  both  melodies,  and  occasion- 
ally threw  in  a  chorus  which  belonged  to  neither.  At 
last  the  landlord  (they  could  see  no  reason  for  his  be- 
havior) ordered  them  to  leave  the  house,  and  threat- 
ened to  call  the  patrol,  whereupon  they  upset  the  table 
and  departed. 

They  went  off  arm  in  arm,  Abner  in  the  middle.  It 
was  a  wonderful  reconciliation  between  the  colonies 
and  the  mother  country.  Our  provincial  thought  that 
he  had  never  so  loved  anybody  in  his  life  as  he  loved 
these  two  British  lobsters,  who  perhaps  had  bayoneted 
some  of  his  fellow-townsmen  during  the  expedition  to 
Lexington  and  Concord.  Every  few  steps  he  unlocked 
arms  and  shook  hands  with  them  both,  and  invited 
them  to  come  and  see  him.  Sometimes  he  asked  them 
out  to  his  farm,  and  sometimes  to  Hog  Island,  and 
sometimes  to  General  Ward's  headquarters. 

But  John  Higg  and  Blue  Peter  did  not  care  one 
straw  whether  he  were  a  good  loyalist,  or  a  soldier  in 
the  rebel  army,  or  the  Great  Mogul.  They  swore  that 
he  was  the  best  fellow  in  the  world,  and  toppled  against 
each  other  in  grasping  at  his  vacillating  hand,  and  then 
reeled  on  again  with  their  arms  around  his  neck. 

Of  course  the  singing  was  resumed,  the  buccaneer 
love-song  and  Old  Hundred  and  various  other  airs, 
diversified  by  much  hurrahing.  And  then,  all  of  a 
sudden,  quite  unexpectedly  and  incomprehensibly, 
there  came  a  difficulty  with  somebody,  or  rather  with 
several  somebodies,  the  most  conspicuous  of  whom,  to 
Abner's  blinking  vision,  was  a  lantern.  John  Higg 
and  Blue  Peter  fought  like  the  British  lion  and  unicorn, 
flooring  the  lantern  and  knocking  somebody  else  on 


Abner  as  a  Captive  205 

top  of  it,  and  then  vanishing  in  a  wild  hurly-burly  of 
buffeting  and  swearing.  As  for  Private  Sly,  he  never 
in  his  life  knew  how  the  battle  turned  out,  and  did 
not  have  a  suspicion  of  what  became  of  himself  till 
next  morning. 

He  awoke  in  a  barn.  At  first  he  took  it  for  granted 
that  it  was  his  own  barn.  He  lay  quite  still  and  con- 
tented until  he  remembered  that  he  had  a  wife,  and 
that  she  might  discover  him  there.  This  startling 
idea  gave  him  energy  enough  to  sit  up  and  peer  out  of 
the  hollow  of  loose  hay  in  which  he  had  been  sleeping. 
The  interior  of  the  barn  could  not  be  made  to  look 
familiar,  although  he  stared  at  it  for  several  minutes 
without  winking.  There  was  a  loose  shingle  in  the 
siding  near  him,  and  he  loosened  it  a  little  more  in 
order  to  peep  out,  for  he  wanted  to  know  what  country 
he  was  in.  It  was  broad  daylight,  and  he  saw  several 
houses  near  by,  but  all  of  them  strange  to  him. 

Then  he  discovered  that  he  was  in  uniform ;  only  it 
was  not  a  blue  uniform ;  it  was  a  red  one.  This  cir- 
cumstance confounded  him  utterly  for  a  time.  Was 
he  a  Yankee  or  an  Englishman  ?  He  stared  perse- 
veringly  at  the  scarlet  sleeve  of  his  coat,  trying  to 
establish  a  clear  recollection  of  his  previous  life,  or  at 
least  the  previous  day  of  it.  Little  by  little  various 
things  came  back  to  him :  the  foraging,  the  capture, 
the  British  General,  John  Higg,  and  Blue  Peter;  he  re- 
called them  slowly,  the  sober  incidents  first  and  then 
the  drunken  ones. 

But  he  could  not  make  out  how  he  had  got  into 
that  lobster  uniform.  Had  somebody  given  it  to  him  ? 
Or  had  he  stolen  it  ?  He  took  the  coat  off,  and  looked 
it  all  over,  inside  and  out.     It  was  a  venerable  gar- 


2o6  A  Lover's  Revolt 

ment,  worn  and  stained  with  service;  such  a  coat  as 
beggars  sometimes  obtained  by  haunting  the  barracks; 
a  coat  which  smelled  of  the  guard-house  and  the  jail. 
Of  a  sudden  he  recollected  the  street  fight;  and  he 
conjectured  that  he  had  whipped  one  of  the  patrolmen 
and  despoiled  him ;  he  hoped,  with  a  gasp  of  alarm, 
that  he  had  not  killed  him.  He  was  about  to  hide  the 
coat  under  the  hay,  with  the  intent  of  sneaking  out  of 
the  barn  and  flying  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  when  a  door  opened  and  a  cheery  voice 
called,  "  Well,  neighbor,  how  do  you  find  yourself  ?" 
Abner  made  a  struggle  to  master  his  wits,  and 
drawled  out,  "  Wal,— fact  is  I  find  myself  consid'able 
astonished." 

The  stranger  was  a  tall,  vigorous  man  of  forty,  with 
a  broad  and  coarsely  featured  but  intellectual  face,  and 
the  air  of  a  person  of  superior  social  standing.  He 
had  a  white  sash  tied  around  his  left  arm,  but  other- 
wise he  was  attired  like  a  civilian,  the  cloth  fine  and  the 
cut  stylish. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  remember  much  about  it,"  he 
said.  "  You  must  understand  that  you  are  a  member 
of  the  Regulators — the  Town  Guard." 

"  I  def"  returned  Abner,  with  a  rising  inflection  of 
interrogation  bordering  on  denial. 

"  Yes;  you  enlisted  last  night.  You  were  a  little 
lively ;  but  still  you  enhsted.  I  suppose  that  settles 
it." 

Abner  reflected ;  or  rather  he  acted  under  the  mo- 
mentum of  circumstances:  he  let  himself  lie  where  he 
had  tumbled. 

'•  Wal !  "  he  assented.  The  word  seemed  to  be  suffi- 
cient for  the  situation ;  moreover,  it  revealed  nothing 


Abner  as  a  Captive  207 

and  it  promised  nothing.  Then  he  added,  "  Am  I 
swore  in  ?  " 

"  You  swore  in  before  me.  I  am  Justice  of  the  Peace 
and  Captain  of  the  Guard.  My  name  is  Timothy 
Ruggles." 

**  All  right,  Square — Capting.  How  about  vittles 
and  pay  ? " 

"  Shilling  a  day;  rations  regular.  Come  along  and 
get  your  breakfast." 

This  is  what  had  happened.  The  respectable  Tories 
of  the  Town  Guard,  disgusted  with  overmuch  watching 
and  warding,  were  looking  about  for  substitutes,  and 
naturally  sought  them  among  the  impoverished  loyal- 
ist refugees  from  the  country.  Abner  Sly,  arrested  in 
the  company  of  two  British  grenadiers,  and  being  able 
to  stammer  somewhat  of  his  Hog  Island  fiction,  had 
been  seized  upon  as  a  good  enough  Regulator,  and 
sworn  in  before  he  entirely  lost  the  power  of  speech. 
His  red  coat  was  one  of  a  batch  of  discarded  uniforms 
which  had  been  turned  over  by  the  military  hospital  to 
the  Guard. 

Abner  found  breakfast  and  several  gormandizing 
Regulators  in  Squire  Ruggles'  generous  kitchen.  He 
drank  his  taxed  tea,  and  ate  his  loyal  johnny-cake  and 
baked  beans,  with  the  downcast,  lurking  air  of  a  dog 
who  cannot  forget  that  he  is  a  sheep-stealer.  What  if 
some  authentic  Hog  Islander  should  turn  up  among 
his  new  comrades  ?  What  if  John  Higg  should  drop  in 
and  tell  him  that  General  Gage  was  waiting  for  him  ? 
Then  came  the  consoling  reflection  that  Higg  and  Blue 
Peter  were  probably  in  limbo,  and  would  not  be  likely 
to  emerge  therefrom  till  they  had  had  their  thirty 
lashes  apiece,  or  possibly  thirty  dozen. 


2o8  A  Lovers  Revolt 

As  his  alarm  diminished,  by  mere  dint  of  eating 
heartily,  he  began  to  ponder  projects  of  escape.  Could 
he  not,  perchance,  obtain  from  Captain  Ruggles  a  leave 
of  absence  and  a  pass  to  Hog  Island,  or  to  some  other 
point  beyond  the  British  lines  ?  But  it  would  not  do 
to  show  overmuch  haste  to  get  out  of  Boston  ;  he  must 
not  apply  for  a  pass  till  the  morrow,  or  even  the  day 
after.  Thus  he  meditated,  believing  the  while  that  he 
was  in  peril  of  being  hung,  but  finding  himself  surpris- 
ingly cool  about  it.  He  was  resolved  that  no  British 
rope  should  grip  his  neck,  if  any  utmost  adroitness  of 
Yankee  wit  could  prevent  it.  Meantime  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  note  that  his  debauch  had  not  left  him  a 
headache,  nor  any  shakiness  of  the  nerves. 

*'  It  was  good  rum,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  impu- 
dently held  out  his  pewter  plate  for  another  helping  of 
pork  and  beans. 


CHAPTER  XXI 


ABNER   AS   A    '*  REGULATOR 


ABNER  SLY  served  longer  than  he  liked  in  the 
ranks  of  the  Regulators,  for  passes  out  of  the 
city  were  not  to  be  had,  especially  by  men  in  the  loyal 
service. 

He  saw  things  in  Boston  that  he  did  not  enjoy  see- 
ing, and  met  people  whom  he  would  have  been  glad  to 
avoid.  For  instance,  he  one  day  espied  preparations 
for  a  catting  on  the  Common  ;  and  such  was  the  audac- 
ity of  his  curiosity  that  he  sauntered  up  to  the  ring  of 
spectators.  The  man  bound  to  the  gun-carriage  was 
handsome  John  Higg,  and  at  the  first  lash  across  those 
white  shoulders  Abner  felt  a  sympathetic  tingling  in 
his  own  back,  and  skulked  away  from  the  scene  with- 
out waiting  for  a  second  whirl  of  the  cat. 

Another  time  he  saw  the  powder-specked  face  of 
Blue  Peter  through  one  of  the  grated  windows  of  the 
jail;  and  he  skipped  trembling  around  the  nearest 
corner  to  dodge  the  bleared  eyes  of  that  piratical  boon 
companion.  Others  of  his  adventures  in  Boston  were 
interesting,  but  not  enough  so  as  to  half  scare  him  to 
death.  An  elderly  clergyman  complimented  him  ful- 
somely  on  the  uniform  he  bore,  fondly  patting  the 
patched  old  red  coat  which  Abner  would  have  been 

209 


2IO  A  Lover's  Revolt 

delighted  to  kick  into  the  gutter,  and  boasting  that  he 
also  was  a  refugee  from  Gomorrah. 

I  am  too  gouty  myself  for  service,"  said  Uncle 
Fenn,  for  it  was  no  other.  "  But  I  rejoice  to  see  my 
countrymen  putting  on  the  scarlet  robes  of  righteous- 
ness. More  and  more  will  do  it.  Heaven  has  not  left 
this  people  altogether  to  blindness  of  mind  and  hard- 
ness of  heart.  And  the  firm  battalions  of  England, — 
sublime  old  England !  irresistible  old  England  ! — are 
hasting  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  to  our  help.  Every 
week  transports — one  feels  like  calling  them  transports 
of  joy — bring  fresh  centuries  of  those  noble  fellows  in 
red,"  smiled  the  old  gentleman,  stepping  feebly  aside 
to  make  room  for  a  staggering  grenadier.  "  There 
must  be  five  thousand — eight  thousand — I  know  not 
how  many  thousand — of  his  Majesty's  troops  in  Boston. 
And  generals  too !  men  bred  to  war  from  their  youth  up  ! 
men  who  shout  'Ha!  ha!'  among  the  trumpets!  The 
Cerberus  fetched  in  Howe,  and  Burgoyne,  and  Clinton. 
Just  think  of  that  noble  utterance  of  Burgoyne:  '  We 
will  soon  make  elbow-room  ! '  Things  will  move  before 
long.  We  shall  witness  a  terrible  going  forth  against 
those  misguided  sons  of  rebellion." 

"  Any  sawt  of  a  notion  when  ?"  queried  Abner, 
wondering  if  he  could  pick  up  some  important  bit  of 
news  and  get  back  to  Cambridge  with  it. 

"At  the  hour  established  in  the  counsels  of  Paradise," 
said  the  parson. 

Wal — yes — jess  's  likely  's  not,"  conceded  Abner. 
But  he  decided  to  enquire  otherwheres  concerning  the 
British  movements.  Paradise  was  a  long  way  off,  he 
hoped ;  and  moreover  it  might  not  be  on  good  terms 
with  General  Gage. 


Abner  as  a  "Regulator"  211 

He  did  not  doubt  as  to  the  sortie;  for  this  respect- 
able old  Tory  seemed  to  be  sure  of  it  (though  he  was 
not);  and  the  thing  was  of  course  probable  enough  in 
itself.  But  he  cudgelled  his  brains  in  vain  for  a  person 
to  whom  he  could  apply  for  particulars  of  date  and 
route.  He  had  had  an  interview  with  the  British  com- 
mander-in-chief ;  but  he  did  not  feel  intimate  with  him, 
and  was  very  averse  to  meeting  him  again.  John  Higg 
and  Blue  Peter  would  also  be  uncomfortable  persons 
to  encounter,  and  moreover  would  probably  have  but 
a  vague  knowledge  of  the  military  future. 

He  was  still  pondering  his  problem  when  Captain 
Ruggles  told  him  that  the  Regulators  were  to  be  trained 
by  a  regular,  and  that  he  must  be  on  hand  for  exercise 
that  afternoon.  Such  was  his  fright  that  he  came  near 
asking  if  the  drill-master  were  named  John  Higg  or 
Blue  Peter;  and  he  secretly  resolved  to  quit  Boston  at 
once,  though  he  should  have  to  run  the  gauntlet  of 
General  Gage's  sentries  and  frigates.  But  an  hour 
later  he  had  decided,  as  we  mortals  often  do  in  a 
pinch,  that  he  would  wait  to  see  what  might  turn  up. 

What  turned  up  was  a  British  soldier  of  a  species 
entirely  new  to  the  experience,  or  even  to  the  imagina- 
tion, of  Abner  Sly.  Not  long  after  dinner,  as  he  was 
lounging  in  the  spacious  barn  which  served  the  Regu- 
lators for  a  muster-room,  a  man  in  scarlet  uniform 
quietly  entered.  He  had  one  of  those  dark,  worn, 
settled,  serious  faces  which  look  middle-aged  at  thirty, 
or  under.  There  were  the  patient  mouth  and  the  far- 
off  gaze  in  the  eyes,  so  characteristic  of  the  disciplined, 
war-tried  veteran.  But  there  was  something  more  in 
that  sunburned  visage :  there  was  an  expression  of 
serene  earnestness  and  of  solemn  tenderness;  an   air 


212  A  Lover's  Revolt 

which  made  Abner  think  of  ministers  and  of  the  holy 
dead. 

He  touched  his  hat  civilly,  and  stated  that  he  was 
Private  John  Randon,  on  command  to  drill  the  Town 
Guard.  A  burr  in  his  utterance,  and  also  his  steady, 
monotoned,  bassoon-like  voice,  both  seemed  outlandish 
to  our  Yankee.  Private  Sly  comprehended  Private 
Randon  with  some  difificulty,  and  queried  whether  he 
were  an  Irishman,  or  a  Welshman,  or  some  more  re- 
mote kind  of  a  foreigner. 

"  Wal! — ain't  it  ruther  airly?"  he  demanded,  in  his 
own  pure  English.  "  Guess  you  'd  better  squat  an' 
wait  a  spell." 

Private  Randon  seated  himself  on  a  wooden  bench, 
keeping  his  back  straight  and  drawing  his  heels  close 
together,  as  if  he  were  to  be  inspected  in  that  position. 
It  was  discoverable  in  his  mere  attitude  that  he  had 
become  one  of  those  human  machines  whom  a  word 
of  command  moves  steadily  up  to  the  cannon's  mouth, 
no  matter  what  may  be  their  inward  shrinkings  from 
death  or  suffering. 

Our  native-born  thunderbolt  of  war  had  vastly  more 
of  the  feline  litheness  and  freedom  of  nature.  He 
doubled  up  easily  upon  an  inverted  tub,  turned  his 
head  aslant  over  the  right  shoulder,  curved  his  long 
back  into  the  outline  of  a  new  moon,  grasped  and  up- 
lifted one  limber  knee  with  his  bony  hands,  and,  taking 
sight  across  it,  made  a  full-length  detailed  survey  of 
Private  Randon,  his  clean  red  coat  with  its  clean  blue 
facings,  his  pipe-clayed  shoulder-belt,  his  spotless  buff 
breeches,  his  black  half-gaiters,  his  brightly  polished 
shoes,  and  his  shining  brass  buckles.  He  looked  at  him 
from  top  to  toe,  and  then  he  looked  at  him  from  toe 


Abner  as  a  ''Regulator"  213 

to  top.  Finally  he  spat  out  of  the  right-hand  corner 
of  his  mouth,  wiped  his  cheek  against  the  knob  of  his 
shoulder,  and  tranquilly  snuffled  the  following  remarks, 
not  speaking  in  a  tone  of  colonial  subserviency  and 
humility,  but  rather  in  a  compassionately  inquisitive 
strain,  as  a  bird  of  the  wild-wood  might  discourse  to  a 
bird  in  a  cage. 

**  Mus'  take  ye  pooty  much  all  yer  spare  time  to 
slick  up  that  way.  S'pose,  though,  ye  git  yer  jacket 
dusted  for  ye,  if  ye  don't  brush  it  yerself." 

"  The  sargents  be  suer  to  fin'  faut  wi'  us  if  we  're 
not  sightly,"  replied  Randon  in  his  calm,  even  voice. 
"  I  donna  wait  mysel'  for  thim  to  be  angered." 

"  Abeout  haow  offen  does  a  chap  git  catter-nine- 
tailed — on  the  averich  ?  "  enquired  Abner. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  might  freely  catechise  such 
a  queer-talking  man,  just  as  he  might  gabble  anything 
to  a  parrot  or  a  magpie,  which  would  probably  not  feel 
the  full  force  of  what  was  said  to  it.  Indeed,  in  his 
anxiety  to  make  Randon  understand  him,  he  spoke  a 
little  plainer  and  louder  to  him  than  he  would  have 
spoken  to  an  American,  thereby  considerably  exag- 
gerating and  emphasizing  his  own  provincialities. 

"  A  man  who  moinds  his  duty,"  said  Randon,  "  an* 
doesna  take  to  the  drink,  can  be  a  sojer  a'  his  life 
wi'out  bein'  catted.  By  th'  grace  o'  God  I  'a'  niver 
had  no  punishment.  Not  that  I  'd  be  braggin' ;  it  's 
just  Heaven's  mercy." 

The  pious  phrases,  and  a  meek,  devout  look  which 
came  into  the  man's  hollow  eyes,  aroused  Abner's  ex- 
tremest  marvel  and  curiosity.  **  Haow  long  you  ben 
in  the  sarvice  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I  '11  'a'  been  a  sojer  three  year,  comin'  Chrismas." 


214  ^  Lover's  Revolt 

"  An*  yeou  a  pious  man  ?"  demanded  Abner  in  a 
tone  of  wonder  approaching  to  incredulity  and  denial. 

Private  Randon  did  not  look  discomposed,  nor  did 
he  hesitate  to  reply.  Without  moving  a  muscle,  with- 
out altering  his  cool,  monotonous,  tranquil  voice,  he 
said,  "  I  hoombly  trust  I  'a'  foun*  the  Saviour." 

*'  Haow  'd  that  come  abeout  ?  "  stared  Abner,  leav- 
ing his  mouth  ajar  after  the  question,  as  if  to  receive 
information  by  every  possible  orifice. 

Neither  did  Randon  hesitate  to  answer  this  query. 
No  doubt  he  had  found  that  the  narration  of  his  de- 
votional experience  sometimes  moved  other  men  to 
solemn  reflection  and  a  betterment  of  life.  No  doubt, 
too,  he  felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to  confess  the  faith  that 
was  in  him,  no  matter  where  or  by  whom  such  con- 
fession might  be  demanded. 

"  I  'a*  allays  been  a  bit  serious,"  he  began;  "  bar- 
rin*  onct,  when  I  was  beguiled  into  drink  an'  listed," 
he  added,  shaking  his  head  and  sighing.  "  Yet  I  'n 
no  call  to  complain  o'  be'en  left  to  that ;  it  was  made 
use  of  to  lead  me  where  I  wasna  thinkin'  to  go;  it 
was  made  use  of  to  save  me  from  mysel'.  But  it  wasna 
till  we  war  on  our  passage  hither  that  the  Heavenly 
Feyther  spoke  to  me  in  an  awahkenin*  voice.  I  'd 
niver  a  book  to  read  but  a  Bible;  an'  He,  in  His  great 
mercy,  moved  me  to  study  it.  Day  in  an'  day  oot, 
aloon  when  I  could  be,  I  pondered  th'  Holy  Word. 
An*  whiles  I  read,  our  Heavenly  Payrent  was  pleased 
to  enlighten  my  moind  an*  draw  my  heart,  such  was 
the  sweet  power  of  His  grace.  Yet  still  I  was  much  in 
darkness,  and  also  in  great  alarm.  I  desired  salvation 
wi'  longin'  an'  tremblin' ;  but  it  seemed  like  all  things 
were  again'  me.     There  was  in  th'  regimint  a  pious 


Abner  as  a  **  Regulator"  215 

man,  Corp'ral  Pierce.  I  sought  him  oot,  an*  we  be- 
came frens,  so  great  was  his  condescension  an*  Christian 
kindness.  He  expounded  to  me  th'  amazin'  love  o' 
God  in  giving  His  Son  to  bleed  an'  die  for  fallen  men. 
He  unfolded  unto  me  th'  need  o'  holiness  o'  sperit  an* 
life,  an'  th'  sweet  mysteries  o'  redemption  by  faith 
an'  th'  new  birth.  To  that  worthy  man,  an'  t'  our 
Heavenly  Feyther's  blessed  Scripter,  I  owe  aw'  th* 
good  that  I  'm  acquented  wi'.  Soon  after  we  landed, 
Jesus  was  pleased  to  speak  peace  to  my  troubled  soul. 
Oh,  that  hour  o'  bliss!  that  hour  o'  wonderful  joy! 
when  I  first  felt  that  I  'd  been  washed  i'  the  blood  o* 
th'  Lamb !  Since  then,  thanks  be  to  God,  I  'a'  had  an 
abidin'  hope." 

His  earnest  tone,  and  his  serenely  solemn  eyes,  were 
altogether  convincing  and  touching.  It  would  have 
been  as  much  out  of  place  to  laugh  at  his  confession  as 
to  laugh  at  the  sound  of  a  voice  from  beyond  the  grave. 

But  while  Abner  was  considerably  interested,  he  was 
even  more  astonished.  He  gave  his  head  a  deeper 
slant,  and  made  another  exhaustive  study  of  Private 
Randon,  scanning  him  minutely  from  his  shoe-leather 
up  to  his  disciplined  club  of  hair,  as  if  to  make  sure 
that  he  were  an  indisputable  British  soldier,  a  comrade 
of  those  men  who  had  bayoneted  the  wounded  at  Lex- 
ington, a  comrade  of  drunken,  swearing  John  Higg  and 
Blue  Peter. 

Wa/  /  "  he  said  at  last,  sharply  and  with  strong 
emphasis.  "  I  suppose  they  's  decent  folks  every- 
wheres." 

I  hope  so,"  replied  Randon,  in  his  unvarying, 
gentle  voice. 

**  Th'  may  be  some  in  jail,"  hazarded  Abner. 


2i6  A  Lover's  Revolt 

"  Tha'  war  a-many  i'  th'  times  o'  th'  apostles,"  said 
Randon. 

Abner  inspected  him  once  more,  and  then  gave  him 
up  for  an  undecipherable  puzzle,  tenderly  rubbing  his 
own  tow  scalp  with  one  calloused  palm,  as  if  the  prob- 
lem of  a  pious  British  soldier  made  a  Yankee's  head 
ache.  Nor  did  the  conversation  lead  him  into  devo- 
tional movements  of  spirit  on  his  own  account.  The 
conversion  of  a  redcoat,  of  a  regularly  enlisted  and 
trained  lobster,  struck  him  much  as  would  the  con- 
version of  a  Turk,  or  a  goblin,  or  a  quadruped.  While 
it  was  wonderfully  curious,  and  even  pathetically  in- 
teresting, it  did  not  appear  to  invite  an  American 
patriot  heavenward,  but  rather  the  contrary. 

Private  Randon  proved  a  much  gentler  drill-master 
than  the  Normanno-Milesian  Brallaghan.  He  never 
swore,  never  chased  anybody  with  a  brandished 
weapon,  never  even  showed  impatience.  Yet  he  was 
conscientiously  painstaking  in  teaching  what  he  had 
to  teach,  the  manual  of  arms  and  company  evolutions. 
His  handling  of  the  musket  had  an  accuracy,  a 
rhythm,  and  a  slap,  which  stirred  the  souls  of  the 
Regulators,  and  made  them  want  to  march  to  battle. 

' '  Y>ygum  !  "  Abner  used  to  say  to  himself,  * '  when  I  see 
that  man  shoulder  whoop,  I  feel  fightish ;  I  feel 's  though 
I  could  whip  King  Philip,  let  alone  King  George." 

He  meditated  a  great  deal  upon  Randon,  during  the 
pauses  of  drill  exercises.  "  I  sup-/^^^  that  good 
creetur  would  haf  to  shute  me,  if  he  was  ordered.  I 
sM'i^-pose  he  would  take  stiddy  aim  an'  pull  trigger,  if 
he  prayed  for  me  the  same  minit.  An'  I  dunno  's  I  'd 
blame  him  a  mite.  It  'ud  be  his  duty,  if  he  was 
ordered.      But   ain't    it  cur'ous  'beout  these  orders  ? 


Abner  as  a  ''Regulator"  217 

He  'd  be  ordered  to  shute  me ;  an*  he  would  n't  be 
ordered  to  pray  for  me;  an'  yet  England  calls  itself  a 
Christian  country.  I  reckon,  if  Randon  was  king,  he  'd 
haf  such  an  order  publisht.  Pray  for  your  man,  an' 
then  hit  him;  that  'ud  be  Randon's  tactics.  An'  I  do 
not  believe  that,  after  a  chap  was  fairly  down,  he  'd 
mount  him  with  a  bagonet.  That  's  John  Higg  and 
Blue  Peter;  it  ain't  Randon." 

Over  and  over,  with  a  view  to  warning  his  country- 
men of  danger,  he  pondered  the  idea  of  asking  Randon 
when  the  British  would  make  their  expected  sally. 
Of  course  it  seemed  rather  mean  to  take  advantage  of 
such  a  simple-hearted,  worthy  creature,  and  mislead 
him  into  betraying  the  counsels  of  his  superiors. 

But  ain't  /  got  no  duty  to  pufform  ?"  reasoned 
Abner.  "  And,  as  for  Randon,  if  he  lets  out  suthin' 
without  sensin'  what  's  to  come  on  't,  why,  he  ain't  a 
speck  blamable,  and  I  don't  lead  him  into  sin." 

So  at  last  he  ventured  his  query,  "  When  is  't  the 
reg'lars  are  goin'  to  put  out  an'  fight  the  rebels  ? " 

For  the  first  time  since  the  two  men  had  become 
acquainted  Abner  saw  a  broad  smile  on  Randon's 
serious  face. 

"  Tha  's  niver  no  speech  o'  such  matters  aforehand," 
he  said.  "  The  first  I  '11  know  of  it,  '11  be  the  order  to 
sling  knapsacks." 

Had  any  other  redcoat  made  this  statement  Abner 
might  have  suspected  him  of  being  deep  and  sly.  But 
looking  askance  into  Randon's  mild  face  and  solemn 
eyes,  he  did  not  doubt  his  word  any  more  than  he  would 
have  doubted  that  of  Old  Put  or  of  a  white-winged  angel. 

"  That  so  ?  "  he  replied,  disappointed,  and  asked  no 
more  questions. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

ABNER   STUDIES   MOORCASTLE 

IN  the  course  of  his  involuntary  watchings  and  wander- 
ings in  Boston,  Abner  Sly  passed  one  night  on  duty 
at  the  **  store  "  of  Jehiel  Oakbridge.  He  went  to  his 
post  early,  not  because  it  was  necessary,  but  because 
he  was  as  fond  of  gossip  and  refreshments  as  a  modern 
policeman.  Thus  he  got  a  hot  supper,  washed  it  down 
with  a  quart  of  cider,  and  learned  something  about  the 
family. 

"  Housebreakers  been  around  lately,"  stated  John 
Oakbridge.  "  Concluded  we  *d  apply  to  Squire  Rug- 
gles  for  a  guard,  though  it  costs  something.  We  don't 
keep  a  clerk  now,  business  is  so  light ;  and  I  got  rather 
worn  out  sitting  up  nights  with  my  horse-pistol. 
Father  's  away." 

"  Father  's  away,"  echoed  Abner,  willing  to  hear 
more,  no  matter  what,  and  repeating  the  last  phrase 
to  give  John  a  new  start. 

"  Yes,  father  's  away  over  sea.  Got  a  contract  to 
bring  supplies  for  the  garrison.  Father  's  a  leetle 
Whiggish,"  chuckled  John,  who  had  been  drinking 
madeira  and  was  injudiciously  communicative.  * '  That 
is,  he  's  been  Whiggish;  did  n't  quite  like  to  take  this 
job.     But  he  came  'round  to  it.     Folks  must  live." 

"  Contracks  hard  to  git  ?"  enquired  Abner,  forget- 

218 


Abner  Studies  Moorcastle  219 

ting  that  he  was  a  patriot,  and  wondering  whether  he 
could  secure  one  for  himself. 

"  I  should  say  so;  takes  high  influence  to  get  one. 
Cap'm  Moorcastle  was  our  friend.  Ever  seen  the 
Cap'm  ?  One  of  the  big  military  men  here;  on  the 
Major-General's  retinue, — Gage's  retinue.  He  's  a 
friend  of  ours ;  calls  on  sister.  There  he  goes  now,  by 
George!     Yes,  he  's  bound  for  the  homestead." 

He  looked  out  of  the  window  after  Moorcastle, 
watched  him  enter  the  yard  of  the  paternal  mansion, 
and  nodded  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction.  Abner, 
studying  him  closely,  comprehended  that  the  Captain 
was  a  suitor,  and  a  highly  favored  one.  He  immedi- 
ately became  anxious  to  have  Oakbridge  clear  out. 

"  Wal,"  he  said  with  a  tone  of  finality,  "  guess  I 
can  take  care  of  the  place.  Dunno  's  I  want  any  more 
showm  . 

'*  Jus'  so,"  sighed  Oakbridge,  somnolently.  "  Sleep 
right  there,  on  the  counter.  Plenty  of  blankets. 
Good  night,  Mr.  Sly." 

It  was  one  of  the  warm,  delicious  nights  of  the  first 
half  of  June.  Abner  decided  that,  before  he  entered 
upon  the  slumbers  which  would  be  the  principal  part 
of  his  guard-duty,  he  would  patrol  the  premises.  It 
was  a  flimsy  pretence  at  vigilance,  with  the  sole  intent 
of  satisfying  his  gluttonous  curiosity;  the  only  rogue 
that  he  looked  for  was  a  British  officer  intent  upon 
stealing  the  heart  of  a  Yankee  maiden. 

He  found  an  ambush  near  one  of  the  open  windows 
of  the  Oakbridge  parlor;  and  there  he  breathlessly 
watched  the  unsuspecting  young  couple  within,  and 
caught  what  he  could  of  their  conversation— his  lean 
head  stretched  painfully  forward,  and  his  mouth  drawn 


2  20  A  Lover's  Revolt 

back  at  the  corners,  like  a  cat  watching  a  pair  of  cooing 
robins.  It  seemed  at  times  (to  use  his  own  vigorous 
dialect)  as  if  he  would  *'  meow  right  out  and  fetch  a 
jump." 

Desultory  and  not  easily  comprehensible  was  the 
dialogue  that  he  listened  to.  Huldah  asked  how  Mrs. 
Gage  was  ;  not  that  she  knew  the  Major-General's 
august  consort,  but  she  never  forgot  that  that  fortu- 
nate lady  was  a  New  Yorker;  it  was  well  to  remind 
Moorcastle  that  his  chief  had  married  an  American. 

Then  she  prattled  of  various  subjects,  skipping 
swiftly  from  one  to  another,  laughing  frequently,  and 
in  short  doing  her  little  best  to  be  entertaining.  Mean- 
while there  was  a  continuous  gentle  struggle,  which 
rustic  Abner  Sly  looked  upon  as  a  humorous  show  of 
coyness,  but  which  was  in  reality  pitiful.  The  love- 
lorn Huldah  (a  provincial  and  a  puritan,  remember) 
was  using  every  girlish  art  to  evade  the  audacious  ad- 
vances of  her  British  gallant  without  angering  him. 
If,  for  instance,  he  reached  forth  to  seize  her  hand, 
she  swiftly  raised  it  to  arrange  her  flossy  hair,  or  she 
drew  it  back  with  a  nervous  giggle. 

"  Oh  no,  Captain  Moorcastle  !  "  she  pleaded.  "  You 
held  it  the  other  evening.  What  does  it  amount  to  ? 
You  did  n't  care." 

Then  she  had  to  wrestle  with  her  feelings  to  keep 
her  mouth  from  quivering.  Oh,  how  she  longed  to 
give  him  that  hand,  then  and  forever!  But  Sister 
Ann  (with  whom  she  daily  consulted)  had  warned  her 
to  be  careful ;  she  must  not  allow  Captain  Moorcastle 
too  many  favors  and  freedoms;  it  was  no  way  to  catch 
the  likes  of  /nm. 

Moorcastle  quietly  dropped  back  from  his  attempt 


Abner  Studies  Moorcastle  221 

at  entering  upon  manual  possession.  He  was  not 
going  to  be  beguiled  into  assuring  her  that  holding 
her  hand  should  amount  to  something.  His  silence 
and  his  air  of  indifference  cut  her  to  the  heart;  and 
erelong  she  let  him  take  the  contested  hand  without 
a  pout  of  objection. 

"  There!  you  've  got  it,"  she  said,  trying  to  giggle. 
And  then,  mustering  all  her  courage,  she  added, 
**  Now,  what  do  you  want  to  do  with  it  ? " 

He  made  no  reply,  and  she  continued,  "  You  don't 
want  it.     Fling  it  back  to  me!  " 

Moorcastle  shook  his  head,  and  laughed  noiselessly. 
His  long  front  teeth  were  visible  to  Abner,  who 
thought  that  he  looked  "  mighty  wolfish."  He  said 
something,  but  it  was  in  an  indistinct  bass,  husky  and 
stifled  as  though  with  emotion.  Then  Huldah's  treble 
notes,  unintentionally  clear  and  audible,  responded 
with  a  kind  of  plaintive  petulance,  "  Oh  no!  .  .  . 
I  don't  like.     .     .     .     Please  don't  ask  me." 

There  were  more  hollow  murmurs,  and  more  soprano 
responses,  the  latter  alone  being  audible  to  Abner,  so 
that  what  he  heard  consisted  of  such  broken  phrases 
as  these:  *'  No,  I  dast  n't  go.  .  .  .  Mother  don't 
want  me  to.  ...  I  may  see  you  here,  but  not 
run  about  o'  nights.  .  .  .  Please  don't  talk  to  me 
so.  .  .  .  You  think  because  I  'm  nothing  but  an 
American  girl " 

Here  she  suddenly  snatched  away  her  hand,  and 
shoved  back  her  chair  violently. 

'*  By  gum!  ain't  she  spunky!"  softly  chuckled 
Abner,  much  better  satisfied  with  his  little  country- 
woman than  she  was  with  herself,  and  beginning  to 
feel  an  entirely  mistaken  compassion  for  Moorcastle. 


222  A  Lover's  Revolt 

A  minute  later,  greatly  to  his  surprise  and  gratification, 
he  saw  that  they  were  side  by  side  again,  the  girl's  voice 
gay  and  her  eyes  sparkling.  Presently  they  rose  to- 
gether, and  stood  in  an  attitude  of  listening;  then  they 
went  softly  out  of  the  room  and  left  the  house  by  the 
front  door. 

"  Takin'  a  walk,"  grinned  Abner.  *'  Don't  see  why 
not.     Me  an'  Keziah  useter." 

The  drama  had  interested  him  tenderly,  and  he  re- 
solved not  to  go  to  bed  till  he  had  seen  it  out.  He 
made  a  tour  of  the  store  and  returned  to  his  ambush ; 
after  a  time  he  made  a  second  tour  and  returned  in 
great  haste.  But  it  was  half  an  hour  or  so  before  the 
couple  stealthily  re-entered  the  parlor.  The  candle 
was  still  burning,  and  Abner  could  see  that  Huldah's 
face  was  not  joyous  now,  but  downcast  and  petulant. 
A  more  spiritual  beholder  would  have  divined  that 
some  manly  promise  had  been  broken  and  some 
womanly  expectation  disappointed.  But  Abner  was 
immediately  absorbed  in  awaiting  the  result  of  a  dia- 
logue only  half  of  which  was  audible  to  him,  though 
the  entire  purport  could  be  comprehended.  The  man 
was  determined  not  to  leave  without  a  good-bye  kiss. 

"Oh  —  Captain  Moorcastle  —  I  ca-n't,"  pleaded 
Huldah.  She  looked  so  honestly  averse,  so  pitiably 
shamefaced,  that  Abner  wondered  at  her,  remember- 
ing how  easily  Keziah  had  accorded  her  caresses. 

In  reply  Moorcastle  spoke  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
distinctly  by  the  outside  listener.  "  I  shall  think  you 
are  angry  with  me,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  think  that  we 
are  no  longer  friends." 

Then  the  girl  stood  still,  and  shrinkingly  received  a 
kiss,  cringing  and  recoiling  under  his  grasp  as  though 


Abner  Studies  Moorcastle  223 

he  hurt  her.  But  when  she  tore  herself  loose,  and, 
springing  back  a  few  feet,  stood  gazing  at  him,  her  face 
was  flushed  and  her  eyes  glittered. 

''There,  go! — bad  man!"  she  laughed,  daring  to 
assume  a  little  domination,  as  women  do  when  they 
have  accorded  much.     "  Now  go — and  be  sorry." 

By  gum !  that 's  a  nice  gal,"  muttered  Abner  with 
a  broad  grin  of  admiration.  "  Never  seen  no  such 
modest  gal  as  that  afore.  She  '11  make  him  a  firs'-rate 
wife.     Guess  he  '11  git  her,  too,  if  he  hangs  on." 

What  a  pathetic  difference  there  was  between  his 
understanding  of  the  case  and  the  real,  anxious,  con- 
science-smitten fact  of  it  !  When  Moorcastle  had 
departed,  Huldah  seized  the  candle  in  petulant  haste, 
fastened  the  front  door  with  the  furtive  movements  of 
a  thief,  pulled  off  her  shoes,  and  stole  upstairs  in  her 
stockings.  Once  in  her  room,  she  softly  bolted  her- 
self in,  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,  weary 
and  sorrowful. 

When  and  how  would  this  struggle  end  ?  How 
much  longer  could  she  bear  it  without  falling  ill  and 
dying  ?  It  was  one  continual  fight  with  everybody 
who  loved  her,  or  whose  good  opinion  and  love  she 
coveted.  Even  Sister  Ann  lectured  her  at  times  on 
the  necessity  of  being  more  prudent.  But  that  was 
nothing  compared  with  the  fact  that  her  mother  fretted 
at  her,  and  about  her,  and,  what  was  worse,  prayed 
for  her. 

If  she  only  would  n't  do  that!  "  sighed  Huldah. 

But,  oh!  what  if  she  should  stop  ?  " 

Here  she  began  to  cry,  resting  her  elbows  on  her 
knees,  supporting  her  forehead  on  her  hands,  and  let- 
ting the  tears  drop,  drop,  drop  on  the  floor. 


2  24  A  Lover's  Revolt 

But  at  last  her  head  was  on  the  pillow,  and  from 
that  tear-stained  pillow  went  up  a  prayer  for  Moor- 
castle,  and  in  answer  to  it  a  pitying  angel  brought 
slumber. 

It  would  have  taken  ^something  mightier  than  Hul- 
dah's  prayers  to  soften  and  hallow  the  noble  Captain. 
His  idea  of  compassion  and  righteousness  was  that  they 
were  obstacles  to  a  gentleman  in  pursuit  of  pleasure. 
His  idea  of  Huldah  was  that  she  was  selfish;  that  she 
had  no  sweet  willingness  to  sacrifice  her  happiness  to 
his  entertainment ;  that  she  was  disappointingly  selfish 
and  provokingly  stubborn  about  it.  Of  course  he  saw 
through  her:  she  was  planning  to  make  a  grand  mar- 
riage ;  very  likely  talked  it  over  daily  with  her  mother; 
got  advice  from  her  as  to  how  to  keep  him  at  cold- 
blooded arm's  length;  girls  were  always  gabbing  to 
some  old  woman,  confound  them! 

But  such  an  alliance  was  so  utterly  out  of  the  ques- 
tion that  she  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  think  of  it. 
Besides,  she  had  had  something ;  she  had  had  his  high- 
bred company  and  attentions;  and  he  had  secured  a 
contract  for  her  father.  The  girl  was  a  nice,  pretty, 
attractive  Httle  thing;  but  she  was  unreasonable,  exact- 
ing, ungrateful,  and  selfish.  The  young  man  thought 
himself  abused,  and,  hard  as  he  was,  he  began  to  feel 
grieved.  Then  of  a  sudden  he  threw  out  his  chest 
and  laughed  angrily.  **  Come,  Moorcastle!  don't  be  a 
baby!  " 

Once  a  suggestion  of  pity  startled  him.  Was  he  not 
causing  serious  suffering,  was  he  not  hunting  a  fellow- 
creature  near  to  spiritual  disaster,  merely  to  gratify  his 
vanity  ?  But  he  promptly  and  resolutely  cast  out  this 
messenger  from  heaven.      Pshaw!   of   course  he  was 


Abner  Studies  Moorcastle  225 

hunting  the  girl;  but  women  were  made,  by  Jove!  for 
men  to  hunt  them ;  nor  did  it  hurt  them  so  much  as 
poets  and  novelists  pretended ;  they  soon  got  used  to 
the  hurt,  and  finally  got  proud  of  it.  Gentlemen  al- 
ways had  and  always  would  amuse  themselves  with 
common-born  girls ;  and  the  girls  did  not  want  them  to 
stop  it,  and  liked  them  all  the  better  for  it,  as  they 
ought  to. 

The  most  hopeless  point  about  Moorcastle  was  his 
solid  confidence  that  he  was  a  fine  fellow  and  a  man 
of  unspotted  honor.  He  was  almost  entirely  incapable, 
at  least  in  regard  to  gallantry,  of  self-reproach  and  re- 
morse. The  probability  is  that  there  were  truer,  purer, 
more  scrupulous,  more  merciful  spirits  than  he  in 
almost  any  jail.  Yet  he  sincerely  believed  that  he 
had  never  committed  a  dishonorable  act,  and  could 
not  commit  one;  and  he  held  himself  ready  to  take 
the  life  of  any  man  who  should  hint  to  him  that  he 
was  not  a  model  gentleman. 

Just  after  quitting  Huldah  he  had  vented  some  of 
his  bitterness  upon  Abner  Sly,  whom  he  discovered 
behind  the  shelter  of  a  lilac  thicket,  extremely  anxious 
not  to  be  investigated. 

"  What  are  you  about  there  ? "  he  demanded,  in  his 
military  growl.     "  Step  forward  here  !  " 

Abner  was  not  a  little  scared  at  the  prospect  of  being 
cross-questioned  by  one  of  Gage's  staff.  But  he  had 
learned  obedience  to  officers,  and  he  tramped  mechan- 
ically up  to  Moorcastle,  saluting  as  well  as  he  knew 
how. 

"What    the   devil   are   you?"    said   the    Captain. 

Then,  divining  that  here  was  one  of  the  Regulators, 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  doing  here  ?" 
15 


2  26  A  Lover's  Revolt 

"  I  'm  on  command  to  guard  this  store,"  whined 
Abner. 

Moorcastle  gave  him  an  inspecting  stare,  grinned  at 
the  poor  imitation  of  a  regular's  position  and  air,  and 
silently  strode  on  toward  his  lodgings. 

"  What  have  I  done  neozv  ?  "  snarled  Abner  to  him- 
self, with  the  bridled  ferocity  of  a  show  leopard  who 
would  use  his  claws  if  he  were  not  afraid  of  the  whip 
and  the  hot  iron.  "  S'pose  I  'm  to  be  reported  for 
suthin'.     Hope  it  won't  be  thirty  lashes." 

Indignant  at  having  been  frightened,  he  steadily 
watched  the  retreating  form  of  the  young  officer,  as  if 
he  were  taking  aim  at  him  from  the  ambush  of  the 
lilac  thicket. 

"  I  could  plug  him,"  he  muttered  through  his 
clenched  teeth.  **  I  could  bore  him  through  the  head, 
or  erry  one  of  his  ears,  if  I  on'y  dast.  Darn  his 
growlin'  picter!  He  must  be  a  pooty  hash  creetur, 
anyway.  /  did  n't  useter  snap  'round  like  that  when 
I  'd  been  settin'  up  with  a  nice  gal.  I  useter  feel  good- 
hearted,  an'  wanted  to  love  everybody.  Darned  if  I 
don't  hope  the  gal  will  give  him  the  mitten!  " 

Then,  fearful  lest  the  Captain  should  happen  back, 
he  slunk  into  the  store  and  went  to  bed.  But  in  vain 
did  Oakbridge's  soft-pine  counter  and  first-class  blan- 
kets invite  him  to  slumber.  Huldah  had  put  him  in 
mind  of  his  youth,  his  courting  days,  his  wife,  and  his 
home.  Moorcastle  had  put  him  in  mind  of  General 
Gage,  John  Higg,  Blue  Peter,  the  cat-o'-nine-tails, 
the  gallows.  Here  he  was,  an  enlisted  American  sol- 
dier, inside  of  a  British  garrison  and  in  disguise.  If 
lie  were  detected,  would  he  be  hung  as  a  rebel  or 
hung  as  a  spy  ? 


Abner  Studies  Moorcastle  227 

It  would  n't  make  much  difference  which,"  sighed 
Abner.  "  Too  bad  to  be  hung!  and  I  only  turned 
twenty-five !  " 

What  with  his  homesickness,  and  his  alarms,  and  his 
insomnia,  he  became  babyish.  He  whimpered  for 
himself,  and  even  made  a  bungling  attempt  to  pray 
for  himself,  recalling  imperfectly  by  turns  the  simple 
petitions  which  he  had  learned  in  childhood,  and  mix- 
ing them  with  the  pious  phrases  which  he  had  heard 
**  in  meeting."  Like  poor  little  Huldah — so  near  by, 
and  so  unconscious  of  him — he  prayed  and  bewailed 
himself  to  sleep. 

Some  of  my  readers  may  take  it  for  granted  that 
Abner  was  a  poltroon.  No  more  of  a  poltroon,  most 
valiant  cavaliers,  than  is  a  Bengal  tiger.  When  the 
chances  favored  him,  he  was  as  deadly  as  a  tiger,  he 
was  a  most  expert  and  dangerous  antagonist,  a  match 
for  thrice  his  weight  in  unwary  foemen.  But  when 
the  chances  seemed  against  him,  he  could  cringe,  and 
lurk,  and  skulk  like  the  striped  terror  of  the  jungle. 
No,  he  was  not  a  poltroon ;  he  was  a  simple  child  of 
nature ;  he  was  a  two-legged  "  big  cat."  Or  we  might 
describe  him  more  scientifically  as  a  semi-puritanic 
homo  pitJicciiS,  with  something  of  farcical  Jacko  left  in 
him,  and  something  of  the  gorilla. 

After  breakfast  next  morning,  with  a  hearty  meal 
and  a  quart  of  cider  in  his  stomach,  he  remembered 
with  shame  the  doldrums  of  the  night,  and  resolved 
that  he  would  not  leave  Boston  until  he  could  carry  to 
Cambridge  some  information  as  to  the  date  and  direc- 
tion of  the  projected  British  sortie. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
abner's  flight 

ABNER  finally  dared  apply  for  information  con- 
cerning Gage's  plans  to  his  own  officer,  the 
commandant  of  the  Town  Guard. 

Timothy  Ruggles,  a  man  of  social  eminence  and 
oratorical  ability,  was  a  disappointed  politician  who 
had  seen  himself  surpassed  in  popular  esteem  by  Otis 
and  Warren,  and  had  consequently  doubled  back  into 
extreme  loyalism,  toiling  fervently  to  organize  Tory 
victory  at  the  hustings,  and,  when  that  failed,  beating 
the  drum  for  war.  He  was  high  in  favor  with  Gage ; 
it  is  related  that  he  was  consulted  by  the  military 
council  which  preceded  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill;  and 
it  is  certain  that  he  subsequently  rose  to  be  some  kind 
of  a  Tory  general,  chiefly  eminent  in  the  recruiting 
line. 

At  this  time  he  was  endeavoring  to  raise  a  battalion, 
with  a  view  to  obtaining  a  royal  commission  as  colonel. 
Abner  Sly  had  the  common-born  conceit  and  impu- 
dence to  believe  that  he  could  make  a  tool  of  this  cun- 
ning egoist.  He  approached  him  with  an  elaborately 
servile  show  of  reverence  which  gave  Ruggles  a  longing 
to  kick  him. 

"  Cap-ting,"  he  whined,  "  I  'd  like  to  'list  in  that 
rigiment  that  your  honor  is  a-startin'.     Only  I  don't 

228 


Abner's  Flight  229 

want  to  'list  for  sarvice  in  Bosting.     What  I  want  is 
to  git  a  sure  chance  to  git  outside  an'  git  a  fight." 

Ruggles  did  not  beheve  this.  He  did  not  believe 
that  any  man  really  desired  to  go  into  battle,  barring 
a  trained  British  soldier,  or  at  least  an  Englishman. 
He  felt  humorously  sure  that  Abner  would  run  away 
as  soon  as  he  came  under  fire,  unless  there  should  be 
an  officer  or  a  sergeant  at  hand  to  punch  him  forward 
on  the  path  to  glory.  This  grinning,  wheedling,  low- 
born whelp  was  evidently  aiming  at  something  to  his 
own  advantage.  But  Ruggles  did  not  care  about  that ; 
here  was  a  recruit,  and  he  would  bag  him. 

He  responded  precisely  as  a  politician  of  our  cor- 
rupted era  would  respond  to  a  "  son  of  toil"  whose 
vote  he  might  be  after.  He  drew  all  over  his  face  a 
veil  of  sham  benignity,  excepting  that  he  did  not  and 
could  not  hide  the  selfish  cunning  of  his  eyes,  a  cun- 
ning curiously  mingled  with  ironical  buffoonery. 

"  Certainly,  Abner,"  he  smirked.  "  That  's  what 
we  all  want ;  that  's  what  I  want :  fix  bayonets  and  go 
at  'em!  Put  your  name  on  my  roll,  and  you  shall 
have  a  fight  in  three  days." 

"  Yis, — but  where?  Hog  Island?  That  's  what 
I  'm  fiercest  after." 

Ruggles  now  divined  what  the  man  was  aiming  at 
— he  simply  wanted  to  get  back  to  his  farm.  Well, 
who  could  blame  him  ? 

"  Hog  Island  in  time,  Abner,"  he  said,  playing  with 
his  petitioner  after  the  superior  manner  of  leading 
politicians.  ''  To  advance  upon  Hog  Island  with 
safety,  General  Gage  must  have  Charlestown  and 
Bunker  Hill.     So  we  shall  secure  those  points  first." 

He  was  laughing  all  the  while  in  his  ruffled  sleeve, 


230  A  Lovers  Revolt 

and  his  statement  was  just  the  contrary  of  what  he  be- 
lieved. Nearly  all  the  Tories  in  Boston  supposed  that, 
when  the  king's  troops  got  ready  for  action,  they 
would  boldly  and  majestically  march  out  over  Boston 
Neck,  and  disperse  those  wretched  rebels  at  Roxbury 
and  Cambridge  with  one  charge  of  the  British  bayonet. 

Abner  Sly  accepted  Mr.  Ruggles'  fable.  "  Oh, 
poke  after  it  Charlestown  way  ?  "  he  said  with  a  wink. 
"  When  's  it  gunter  be  ?  " 

"  Inside  of  three  days,"  asserted  the  able  politician. 
"  So  you  'd  best  hurry  up,  my  man.  The  battalion  is 
about  as  full  as  it  can  hold." 

"  Scratch  me  down,  Capting,"  said  Abner.  "  I 
s'pose  anyway  it  's  worth  a  mug  of  cider." 

He  got  the  cider,  though  it  was  becoming  scarce  in 
Boston.  But  before  he  could  be  regularly  enrolled 
into  the  "  Loyal  Americans  "  an  extraordinary  ad- 
venture befell  him.  During  the  evening  he  went  on 
guard  over  certain  properties  (the  hodge-podge  luggage 
of  some  newly  arrived  Tory  refugees)  which  had  been 
left  on  the  wharf  of  the  Charlestown  ferry.  Of  course 
he  had  his  scarlet  coat,  his  musket,  and  other  military 
accoutrements.  Barring  that  he  wore  stockings  in- 
stead of  gaiters,  a  fact  not  at  once  obvious  by  starlight, 
he  bore  the  semblance  of  a  British  soldier,  though 
scarcely  a  credit  to  the  service. 

But  he  was  far  from  being  contented  and  happy  in 
his  lobster  uniform.  The  proximity  of  Bunker  Hill, 
where  a  Yankee  picket  nestled,  and  the  thought  of 
that  wife,  and  house,  and  farm,  not  many  miles  be- 
yond, made  him  desperately  homesick.  Seating  him- 
self on  the  dewy  cover  of  a  baldish  hair-trunk,  he 
stared  at  the  dimly  visible  landscape  on  the  other  side 


Abner's  Flight  231 

of  the  Charles  River,  and  pondered  a  dozen  impracti- 
cable plans  for  reaching  it.  The  gloom  of  nostalgia  was 
in  his  eyes  when  he  heard  a  discipKned  tramp  ap- 
proaching, and  presently  beheld  a  platoon  of  regulars 
march  past  him  to  the  end  of  the  wharf. 

Abner  the  inquisitive  arose  and  drew  nigh  to  the 
rear  of  the  Httle  column.  There  were  two  officers,  as 
he  could  squintingly  make  out,  and  about  two  dozen 
of  light  infantrymen.  No  one  spoke,  but  he  heard 
near  by  a  plashing  of  oars,  and  he  comprehended  that 
boats  were  being  brought  up  to  the  landing-stair.  He 
had  just  decided  that  there  were  not  men  enough  there 
to  seize  Bunker  Hill,  and  that  he  might  as  well  return 
to  his  doleful  revery  on  the  hair-trunk,  when  one  of 
the  officers  came  to  the  rear  of  the  platoon  and  said  in 
a  hoarse  growl,  "  What  are  you  lagging  back  for  ? 
Form  up!  " 

Some  befriending  angel,  perhaps  a  rebel  angel,  gave 
Abner  the  courage  to  hold  his  tongue  and  obey  the 
order.  A  little  later,  he  and  all  the  others  were  seated 
in  two  launches,  heading  up  the  river  and  making  for 
the  northern  shore  at  the  foot  of  Town  Hill.  Abner 
kept  silence,  rested  his  face  between  the  two  tremulous 
hands  which  clenched  his  upright  musket,  and  won- 
dered if  anybody  heard  the  beating  of  his  heart.  The 
soldiers  on  his  right  and  left  glanced  at  him,  but  they 
said  nothing  to  him  nor  to  each  other.  A  veteran  who 
is  thoroughly  caned  into  his  duty  generally  does  no 
more  than  the  exact  duty  which  he  is  caned  into.  If 
these  redcoats  noted  that  Abner  was  a  Yankee,  they 
probably  concluded  that  he  had  been  brought  along 
as  a  guide,  and  that  at  all  events  it  was  none  of  their 
enlisted  business. 


232  A  Lover's  Revolt 

About  midnight  the  party  landed  below  Town  Hill. 
The  straggling  western  end  of  Charlestown  was  dark 
and  fast  asleep.  Clouds  were  drifting  across  the  sky 
and  the  faint  light  of  the  stars  was  faiHng  as  the 
platoon  threaded  the  straggling  suburb  in  silence  and 
came  to  a  halt  in  the  open  fields  beyond. 

"Begad!"  muttered  one  of  the  officers,  "we  *ll 
have  a  doosid  bungling  job  of  it  to-night." 

"  It  's  to-night  or  never,  perhaps,"  said  the  other. 
"  Not  much  time  between  now  and  the  eighteenth." 

Abner  hearkened  till  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  ears 
grew  and  projected  out  of  his  head  a  foot  long,  but 
without  being  able  to  catch  another  word. 

Now  came  the  ordinary  advance  of  a  reconnoissance. 
The  left  section  of  the  platoon  deployed  as  skirmishers 
and  pushed  forward  under  charge  of  one  of  the  officers, 
while  the  right  section,  headed  by  the  other  officer,  fol- 
lowed at  some  distance  in  close  order  as  a  reserve. 
Abner  of  course  could  not  divine  whether  the  intention 
was  to  attack  the  picket  on  Bunker  Hill,  or  merely  to 
spy  out  its  position  and  numbers.  He  did  not  think 
of  that  question  at  all ;  he  did  not  and  could  not  care 
if  the  whole  picket  were  shot  and  bayoneted;  his 
troubled  soul  was  concentrated  on  the  problem  of  find- 
ing a  chance  to  run  away;  in  short,  he  felt  as  nineteen 
out  of  twenty  brave  men  would  have  felt  in  his  situa- 
tion. I  say  brave  intentionally  and  firmly,  for  although 
Abner  could  be  scared  now  and  then,  and  although  he 
had  a  scalp-hunter's  ideas  as  to  the  best  way  of  fight- 
ing, he  was  fully  up  to  the  average  of  untrained  human 
valor. 

Luckily  for  him,   his  position  in  the  platoon  had 
thrown  him  into  the  skirmish-line  and  on  the  extreme 


Abner's  Flight  233 

left  of  it.  This  fact  favored  his  project  of  flight ;  all 
he  needed  now  was  some  kind  of  cover.  Meanwhile 
he  advanced  with  the  line,  diverging  cautiously  to  the 
left,  and  treading  with  the  stealthiness  of  an  Iroquois 
scout,  for  he  remembered  that  there  was  danger  of 
catching  a  Yankee  ball  as  well  as  a  British  one.  Pres- 
ently he  discerned  a  glimmer  ahead,  and  knew  that  it 
was  the  watch-fire  of  the  picket,  and  pictured  to  him- 
self the  militiamen  warming  their  rations  over  it,  or 
lighting  their  corn-cob  pipes. 

"Dang  'em!"  he  thought  with  something  like 
anger.     "  If  they  '11  only  keep  still  till  I  get  there!  " 

At  last  he  reached  a  long,  shadowy  something  which 
proved  to  be  a  stretch  of  bushes.  Now  was  his  chance ; 
now  or  never.  He  slipped  behind  the  alders,  stooped 
low,  and  set  off  on  a  run,  aiming  at  the  glimmer  on  the 
hilltop.  He  was  in  a  panting  fright,  expecting  every 
moment  to  get  a  loyal  bullet  in  his  back,  or  a  patriotic 
one  in  his  breast.  But  he  ran  on  with  all  his  mieht. 
dashed  by  the  straggling  upper  end  of  the  thicket,  and 
came  out  on  the  rounded  brow  of  Bunker  Hill,  where 
he  stumbled  over  a  sleeping  sentry,  who  woke  up  in  a 
stuttering  panic  and  bawled  for  quarter. 

"You  darned  fool,  you!"  gasped  the  breathless 
Abner.     "  Holler  like  thunder  for  the  corporal." 

The  sentinel  shouted  something,  it  was  impossible  to 
say  what,  for  in  his  terror  his  voice  had  broken  and  he 
gave  forth  a  commingled  clamor,  part  bass  and  part 
falsetto.  One  would  have  thought  that  a  very  hoarse 
man  and  a  very  shrill-toned  woman  were  calling  alter- 
nately for  assistance.  But  the  uproar  answered  a  pur- 
pose, for  half  a  dozen  militiamen  came  running  up, 
discharging  their  firelocks  one  after  the  other  into  the 


234  A  Lover's  Revolt 

darkness,  and  immediately  swaying  back  upon  the 
main  body. 

To  this  loose  gunning  a  volley  responded ;  then  there 
was  a  long-drawn  order,  far  away ;  then  silence.  The 
picket  meantime  was  in  wild  excitement,  some  of 
the  men  struggling  into  their  equipments,  others  vocif- 
erating for  a  charge,  and  the  lieutenant  in  command 
screaming,  "  Form  up!  "  It  was  just  such  a  helpless 
hurly-burly  as  usually  takes  place  in  a  detachment  of 
undisciplined  troops  disturbed  by  a  night  attack. 

The  English  did  not  advance  as  a  body,  though  they 
probably  sent  forward  a  lurking  scout  or  two  to  creep 
about  the  picket  and  spy  out  its  numbers.  The 
Americans  got  into  line,  and  the  lieutenant  ceased  his 
yelling.  Then  it  was  discovered  that  one  man,  ten  or 
fifteen  yards  to  the  rear  of  the  line,  was  lying  prone 
with  a  bloody  hole  in  one  temple. 

"  I  swow!  Kiah  *s  got  it!  "  exclaimed  a  comrade. 
"  I  told  Kiah  to  keep  away  from  the  rear.  The  Good 
Book  says  the  devil  allays  takes  the  hindmost." 

The  lieutenant,  a  small,  nervous,  light-haired  man, 
stared  at  the  comrade  as  though  he  proposed  to  dis- 
pute the  accuracy  of  that  text.  But  his  attention  was 
immediately  attracted  by  the  proceedings  of  Abner 
Sly,  who  had  already  thrown  off  his  scarlet  coat  and  was 
engaged  in  appropriating  that  of  his  slain  countryman. 
Say,  you!  "  exclaimed  the  lieutenant.  **  Are  you 
a  deserter  ? " 

"  I  'm  on  Ginral  Ward's  retinue,"  Abner  explained. 
"  Got  monstrous  big  tidings  for  him." 

And  away  he  ran,  hindered  by  nobody,  though  one 
man  grumbled,  **  What  business  had  he  with  Kiah's 
coat  ? " 


Abner's  Flight  235 

As  he  approached  the  American  reserve  on  the  Neck, 
he  remembered  that  he  ought  to  have  provided  him- 
self with  the  countersign.  But  it  did  not  matter;  he 
told  the  sentry  that  he  belonged  to  the  picket,  forget- 
ting in  his  haste  that  it  was  a  fib ;  and  the  sentry  told 
him  to  scamper  along  and  hurry  back.  Between  the 
Neck  and  Cambridge  he  met  Captain  Asahel  Farnlee 
riding  one  of  his  grand  rounds;  and,  forgetting  in  his 
joy  the  discipline  that  he  had  learned  in  the  past  six 
weeks,  he  shouted  at  him,  "  Hullo!  " 

"What!  Abner!"  returned  Ash.  "We  thought 
you  were  shot.     How  did  you  get  away  ? " 

"  Too  long  a  story  to  tell  now,  Capting.  I  Ve  got 
some  mighty  pressing  tidings  for  Ginral  Ward." 

"  Go  on  to  headquarters,"  said  Ash.  "  I'll  be  there 
soon  and  help  you  get  at  the  General.  How  did  you 
come  by  the  guards  ? " 

"  Cost  me  some  trouble  to  wake  'em  up,"  scoffed 
Abner.  "  Better  send  Brallaghan  up  there  to  give  'em 
ginral  trainin'." 

Ash  rode  off  in  a  fury  to  Bunker  Hill,  and  Abner 
panted  on  afoot  to  Cambridge,  where  he  found  listeners 
of  high  rank  for  his  tale.  He  found  believers,  too,  for 
other  refugees  had,  within  a  few  hours,  slipped  out  of 
Boston,  and  the  American  chiefs  were  already  query- 
ing whether  a  British  sortie  was  at  hand. 

The  result  was:  first,  that  on  the  15th  of  June,  1775, 
the  Committee  of  Safety  (which  was  a  committee  of  the 
Massachusetts  Legislature)  recommended  to  the  Coun- 
cil of  War  at  Cambridge  that  Bunker  Hill  should  be 
occupied  in  force ;  and,  second,  that,  in  the  evening  of 
the  same  day,  Ward  and  his  generals  met  to  take  action 
upon  the  recommendation  of  the  Committee. 


236  A  Lover's  Revolt 

The  Council  must  have  found  it  a  scaring  matter  to 
resolve  upon  a  movement  which  might  bring  on  a 
battle.  The  sixteen  thousand  soldiers  in  camp  had 
few  bayonets  and  not  above  five  rounds  apiece  of 
ammunition.  In  magazine,  there  were  sixty-three 
half-barrels  of  powder,  a  few  hundred  bullets,  and  a 
small  store  of  lead.  The  heavy  cannon  were  about 
a  score  in  number,  and  the  field-artillery  consisted  of 
eight  four-gun  batteries,  very  nearly  destitute  of  balls 
and  cartridges.  The  entrenchments  were,  as  yet,  mere 
scattered  breastworks  except  in  front  of  Boston  Neck. 
What  fighting  chance  was  there  against  Gage,  with 
his  veteran  regulars,  his  filled  cartridge-boxes,  his  bayo- 
nets, his  overflowing  magazines,  his  abundant  cannon, 
and  his  ships  of  war  ? 

Yet  the  Council  decided  to  seize  Bunker  Hill,  trust- 
ing that,  if  a  battle  ensued,  it  would  quicken  recruiting 
in  New  England,  arouse  the  sympathy  and  pugnacity 
of  the  distant  colonies,  and  consolidate  American  re- 
sistance to  "  taxation  without  representation." 

During  the  early  evening  of  the  next  day,  the  Amer- 
ican engineer  ofificer.  Colonel  Gridley,  with  Generals 
Warren  and  Putnam,  made  a  reconnoissance  of  the 
Charlestown  promontory  and  held  a  hot  argument  as 
to  the  proper  site  for  a  redoubt. 

Warren,  a  Massachusetts  major-general  now,  and 
therefore  the  ranking  ofificer  of  the  trio,  was  urgent 
for  Breed's  Hill. 

"  We  cannot  hold  it,"  replied  the  old  engineer. 
""  Gage's  cannons  command  it.  We  must  fortify 
Bunker  Hill,  in  order  to  support  our  advance,  and 
also  to  cover  our  retreat,  if  that  should  happen." 

•*  Colonel  Gridley  is  right,"  declared  Putnam.     *'  Our 


Abner's  Flight  237 

men  are  too  poorly  disciplined,  and  too  poorly  furnished 
with  arms  and  munitions,  to  take  and  keep  so  exposed 
a  position.  I  know  the  British  soldiers ;  they  are  well 
provided,  well  trained,  obedient,  and  persevering;  their 
stubbornness  will  outlast  our  supply  of  powder  and 
lead.  We  are  not  yet  in  condition  to  challenge  a 
battle  with  old  regulars,  and  skilled  batteries,  and  a 
strong  fleet." 

But  Warren,  young  and  eager  for  distinction,  wise 
in  politics  and  ignorant  of  war,  argued  for  the  ad- 
vanced post  "  with  pressing  importunity,"  and  secured 
an  unwilling  acquiescence. 

"  Let  it  be  Breed's  Hill,  then,"  grumbled  the  others, 
and  thereupon  the  three  ambled  back  to  Cambridge  to 
announce  their  decision,  still  querying  whether  that 
decision  was  wise  or  senseless. 

During  that  same  night,  between  midnight  and 
dawn,  a  thousand  New  Englanders  (eight  hundred 
from  Massachusetts  and  two  hundred  from  Connecti- 
cut) threw  up  on  Breed's  Hill  a  feeble  redoubt,  less 
than  fifty-five  yards  square,  by  way  of  challenging 
England  to  battle. 

When  morning  came  over  the  Atlantic,  and  the 
jaded  Americans  could  see  where  they  were  and  what 
encompassed  them,  they  were  tempted  to  abandon 
their  seemingly  mad  enterprise,  and  disperse. 

"  Eight  ships  of  war  and  all  Boston  armed  against 
us!"  muttered  Peter  Brown,  clerk  of  a  company  in 
Prescott's  regiment.  **  I  do  venture  to  say,  there  has 
been  oversight,  or  presumption,  or  treachery,  in  our 
officers." 

There  was  a  general  cringing  among  these  raw  sol- 
diers when  the  brig  Lively,  twenty  guns,  followed  by 


238  A  Lover's  Revolt 

the  Falcon,  eighteen  guns,  opened  their  astonished 
ports  and  began  to  thunder  against  the  southern  curtain 
of  the  redoubt. 

To  reassure  his  people,  Prescott  mounted  the  ram- 
part and  paced  its  entire  circuit,  his  cheering  voice 
audible  through  the  piim,  puni  of  the  cannonade,  and 
his  white  linen  frock  distinctly  visible  to  the  English 
on  Copp's  Hill.  It  was  at  this  time  that  his  brother- 
in-law,  Willard,  recognized  his  commanding  figure,  and 
with  a  spasm  of  pride  in  his  Tory  throat,  said  to  Gen- 
eral Gage,  "  He  will  fight  to  the  last  drop  of  his 
blood." 

Meantime,  there  were  a  few  among  Prescott's  follow- 
ers who  did  not  like  his  heroism,  and  who  would  have 
been  pleased  to  see  him  run  away,  because  then  they 
could  run  also  without  plainly  disgracing  themselves. 
Among  these  secretly  troubled  souls  was  Abner  Sly, 
who  had  accompanied  the  detachment  to  the  peninsula 
as  a  guide,  much  elated  with  the  honor  of  bearing  a 
dark  lantern  for  Colonel  Prescott.  As  a  veteran  of 
Lexington,  Abner  had  a  reputation  to  support,  and, 
therefore,  he  had  resolved  to  see  the  battle  through 
and  set  a  glorious  example. 

But  the  cannonade  was  much  harder  on  his  nerves 
than  had  been  the  wild  shooting  around  Smith's  and 
Percy's  breathless  retreat.  He  distinctly  felt  that,  if 
he  could  not  re-enforce  his  valor,  he  was  in  danger  of 
"  scrooching."  There  was  a  comrade  near  at  hand 
whose  gaping  haversack  revealed  the  neck  of  a  stone 
bottle.  After  glancing  at  it  wistfully  a  dozen  times, 
Abner  laid  hold  of  it  with  a  bony,  dirty  claw,  drawling 
out,  "  I  've  been  a-lookin'  at  it  for  a  spell,  an'  neow  I 
b'lieve  I  '11  ketch  holt." 


Abner's  Flight  239 

"Haow?"  grinned  the  fellow-patriot.  "Been 
waitin'  for  me  to  ask  ye  ?  " 

For  sole  answer,  Abner  raised  the  bottle,  threw  back 
his  tow  head,  and  took  a  long  pull,  the  Adam's  apple 
in  his  scrawny  throat  working  spasmodically. 

Haow  long  's  this  squawmishness  goin'  to  last  ?" 
genially  enquired  the  other. 

Abner  wiped  his  mouth  with  his  knuckles  and  replied, 

Till  I  git  dry  agin." 

It  was  cheering  to  find  that  he  could  joke  under  the 
cannonade,  and  he  began  to  hope  that  he  should  sur- 
vive the  battle  and  win  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

BUNKER   HILL 

ASH  FARNLEE'S  service  in  the  battle  did  not 
begin  so  early  as  Abner  Sly's.  It  was  about 
noon  when  he  received  permission  from  General  Ward 
to  accompany  Old  Put  to  Bunker  Hill. 

The  two  officers  set  off  in  a  canter  for  the  Causeway, 
which  was  then  the  most  direct  road  between  Cam- 
bridge and  Charlestown.  Putnam,  his  broad  face  red 
and  worried,  rode  for  some  time  in  silence,  leaning 
well  forward  in  his  saddle  and  working  his  elbows  as  if 
to  help  his  nag  onward. 

"  I  have  two  duties  to-day.  Captain,"  he  finally  said. 
"  One  is,  to  feed  the  fore  line  with  re-enforcements; 
the  other  is,  to  'stablish  a  second  line  behind  Pres- 
cott  and  Stark.  But,  so  far,  I  can't  do  either.  We 
are  a  rabble  of  well-meaning  fellows,  commanded  by 
God  knows  who.  Massachusetts  men  would  sooner 
obey  a  British  brigadier  than  a  Connecticut  one. 
When  we  get  a  Union,  then  we  can  have  an  army. 
Warren  is  the  ranking  officer  on  the  Neck,  and  ought 
to  take  command.  He  knows  nothing  about  it,  but 
he  might  ask  me  or  Stark  what  to  do,  and  give  his 
orders  according.  As  things  are  now,  with  nobody  at 
the  head,  we  shall  fight  a  piecemeal  battle.  Prescott 
will  hold  the  redoubt  and  breastwork  on  Breed's  Hill. 

240 


Bunker  Hill  241 

Stark  and  Reed  will  take  care  of  the  hay-fence  butting 
on  Mystic  River.  Knowlton  and  my  men  will  connect 
Prescott  with  the  Hampshire  fellows.  There  is  our 
plan  of  battle,  Captain,  supposing  I  should  get  killed 
and  you  should  want  to  know  what  to  tell  the  folks. 
As  for  the  British,  they  have  got  twenty-five  hundred 
men  on  the  end  of  the  Neck,  and  mean  to  attack  us 
fair  and  square  on  our  front,  which  is  the  kindest  thing 
they  could  do  for  us.  Why  in  Nipton's  name  they 
did  n't  come  on  two  hours  ago,  before  Knowlton  and 
Stark  got  their  fence  built,  is  more  than  I  can  explain. 
They  might  have  had  the  whole  Neck  then,  without 
losing  three  hundred  men, — perhaps  not  a  hundred." 

While  Putnam  thus  talked,  the  two  horsemen  entered 
upon  the  long  and  narrow  Causeway,  and  became  aware 
of  battle  and  peril.  The  English  had  already  opened 
that  wide-spreading  cannonade  of  two  hours  or  more 
which  preluded  the  attack  of  their  infantry.  There 
was  a  greater  uproar  of  artillery  than  usually  ushers  in 
a  struggle  between  armies  of  twenty  or  thirty  thousand 
men.  Several  scores  of  iron  or  brazen  muzzles  per- 
severingly  hurled  balls  and  grape  from  end  to  end  and 
from  side  to  side  of  the  little  peninsula,  only  about  a 
mile  long  and  half  a  mile  broad. 

On  the  Roxbury  front,  too,  there  was  a  clamorous 
bow-wowing,  by  way  of  threatening  a  sally  upon  the 
American  right  wing,  and  so  distracting  the  attention 
of  the  inexperienced  commander  at  Cambridge. 

The  battery  at  Barton's  Point  and  an  armed  trans- 
port moored  high  up  in  the  Charles  River  bore  full  on 
the  Causeway,  and  on  the  isthmus  beyond  it,  and  were 
very  useful  that  day  in  checking  the  arrival  of  Amer- 
ican   re-enforcements.     Fourteen    heavy    guns    were 

x6 


242  A  Lover's  Revolt 

pitching  round  shot,  bar-shot,  and  chain-shot  across 
the  track  of  our  two  horsemen. 

Ash  was  not  scared,  though  he  was  conscious  of  a 
solemnizing  anxiety;  he  had  all  his  wits  at  command 
and  observed  everything  intelligently.  Several  times 
he  glanced  sidelong  at  his  grizzled  companion,  curious 
to  see  how  a  veteran  bore  himself  in  such  deadly 
circumstances. 

Old  Put  had  on  his  habitual  Vespasianic  smile,  broad- 
ened and  hardened  just  now  to  a  stony  grin.  He  did 
not  look  after  the  screeching  balls,  nor  at  the  ragged 
trenches  which  they  tore  up  in  the  road,  nor  at  the 
hostile  batteries  which  were  smoking  down  the  Charles 
River.  His  wide-open  blue  eyes  were  set  straight 
forward  in  the  direction  of  Breed's  Hill,  as  if  his  over- 
ruling thought  were  a  fear  lest  he  should  discern  Pres- 
cott's  men  running  out  of  the  redoubt.  The  anxiety 
of  the  General  was  profound  and  strong  enough  to 
drown  the  anxiety  of  the  child  of  mortality. 

Nearing  the  eastern  end  of  the  Causeway,  Farnlee's 
horse  was  killed  by  a  cannon-shot,  and  fell  headlong 
with  his  rider.  Putnam  gave  the  youngster  a  glance, 
as  if  to  see  whether  he  were  dead,  and  then,  without 
speaking,  without  making  a  show  of  halting,  cantered 
on  toward  the  battle-field.  Ash  got  up,  rubbed  his 
bruised  hands  hastily,  and,  leaving  his  horse  as  uncere- 
moniously as  Putnam  had  left  him,  hastened  forward 
afoot.  Nearing  Bunker  Hill,  he  found  a  dead  provincial, 
a  respectable  fellow-townsman,  and  stripped  him  of  his 
gun  and  ammunition  just  as  hard-heartedly  as  if  he 
were  a  pirate.  Then  he  bustled  on,  hot,  red  in  the 
face,  and  dripping  with  sweat,  to  Prescott's  position  on 
Breed's  Hill. 


Bunker  Hill  243 

The  redoubt  swarmed  with  men,  some  finishing  the 
banquettes,  some  watching  the  British  array  in  front, 
some  asleep.  Ash  saw  Warren  kneeling  on  the  ground 
in  his  fine  clothes,  and  bandaging  a  soldier's  bloody 
arm.  Then  he  met  Prescott,  who  sent  him  to  the 
outer  end  of  an  unfinished  exterior  breastwork,  as 
being  a  spot  which  needed  specially  capable  defenders. 

From  this  point  he  had  a  view  of  the  field  of  pros- 
pective battle.  Even  to  his  inexperienced  eyes,  the 
American  position  seemed  a  singular  one  and  very 
faulty.  On  the  right  was  the  redoubt,  its  front  to- 
wards Boston,  and  its  narrow  eastern  flank,  only  forty- 
four  yards  long,  facing  Howe's  twenty-five  hundred 
men.  Joining  it  on  the  north  came  about  the  same 
length  of  breastwork,  and,  below  that,  a  stretch  of 
side  hill  protected  merely  by  a  shallow  marsh.  The 
hay-fence,  which  Ash  thought  should  have  been  on  a 
line  with  the  breastwork,  lay  two  or  three  hundred  yards 
to  the  rear  of  it,  so  that  the  whole  front  formed  what 
soldiers  call  an  echelon. 

Apparently  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  skirmishers 
and  field-pieces  from  taking  post  near  the  marsh  and 
enfilading  the  breastwork.  Obviously  and  certainly 
there  was  nothing  to  hinder  an  English  gunboat  from 
sailing  up  the  Mystic  and  enfilading  the  hay-fence. 
Ash  glanced  at  these  chances  with  a  scowl,  and  then 
tried  to  think  of  them  no  more. 

In  front  there  was  such  a  noble  spectacle  as  he  had 
never  before  looked  upon.  Howe's  re-enforcements  had 
now  arrived  and  taken  up  their  positions.  A  long  line 
of  scarlet  and  of  glittering  steel  stretched  from  south 
to  north  across  the  peninsula.  Near  Charlestown  stood 
the  Forty-Seventh  and  the  First  battalion  of  marines. 


244  ^  Lover's  Revolt 

Facing  the  eastern  flank  of  the  redoubt  and  the  front 
of  the  breastwork  were  four  regiments  in  line.  Next, 
farther  north,  came  ten  companies  of  grenadiers  in 
column ;  then  eleven  companies  of  light  infantry,  also 
in  column.  Six  field-pieces,  banging  away  at  the  hay- 
fence,  were  between  the  light  infantry  and  the  grena- 
diers. 

It  was  a  beautiful,  an  imposing,  a  terrible  pageantry. 
Many  of  the  provincials  were  so  fascinated  by  it  that 
they  scarcely  noticed  the  cannonade,  which  was  still 
roaring  with  undiminished  fury,  piling  columns  of 
smoke  above  the  harbor  and  the  two  peninsulas.  If  a 
man  dropped  now,  they  did  not  trouble  themselves  to 
carry  the  body  out  of  the  way,  nor  so  much  as  think 
of  having  prayers  said  over  it. 

By  no  means  all  of  them  were  gazing  at  the  English  ; 
there  were  some  who  took  one  glance,  and  then  looked 
no  more.  One  such,  a  beardless,  cherry-cheeked  boy, 
murmured  to  a  swarthy,  iron-gray  man  who  sat  near 
him,  "  Daddy,  you  tell  me  when  they  are  coming." 
The  father,  a  mild-eyed  and  kindly-faced  soul,  surely 
gifted  with  parental  affection,  made  no  reply  and 
seemed  not  to  hear.  Hardly  a  person  had  an  air  of 
caring  for  another  for  more  than  a  single  instant. 
Probably  there  is  no  self-concentration  (for  one  cannot 
justly  call  it  egoism)  more  tense  than  that  of  the  bat- 
tle-field. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  these  solemnized  men 
were  not  brave.  They  were  much  above  the  average 
of  human  bravery.  Hours  on  hours  of  fatigue,  of 
harassing  suspense,  and  of  exposure  to  peril,  had  elimi- 
nated all  the  weaker  spirits.  Only  the  heroes  remained  ; 
there  could  be  no  doubt  of  it.     So  shadowy  was  the 


Bunker  Hill  245 

discipline  of  this  army,  and  so  inexperienced  and  de- 
ficient in  influence  were  its  officers,  that  the  timorous 
had  been  quite  free  to  depart,  and  had  departed. 

Ash  Farnlee,  to  his  great  surprise  and  still  greater 
vexation,  felt  more  worry  and  anxiety  than  he  had 
known  in  his  first  combat.  The  forms  of  the  slain  at 
Lexington  rose  before  him,  demanding,  "  Wilt  thou 
also  be  as  one  of  us  ?  "  Moreover,  the  cannonade  had 
been  very  wearing  to  his  nerves;  for  though  he  had 
seen  few  men  fall,  those  few  had  been  killed  by  hideous 
lacerations,  sickening  to  look  upon;  and  then  the  mere 
uproar  of  so  many  guns,  the  howling  and  crashing  of 
so  many  shot  and  shell,  had  shaken  both  body  and 
soul. 

Farnlee  was  roused  from  his  solemn  abstraction  by 
the  voice  of  Colonel  Prescott. 

The  veteran  had  come  forth  from  the  redoubt  to  see 
if  his  men  at  the  breastwork  were  prepared  for  the 
onset ;  and,  striding  along  the  rear  of  the  line,  he 
uttered  in  a  long-drawn,  harsh  cry  a  series  of  practical 
instructions,  repeated  over  and  over.  Few  of  the 
soldiers  looked  around  at  him,  and  even  they  instantly 
turned  to  stare  at  the  enemy.  But  the  officers,  one 
after  another,  caught  up  and  reiterated  the  words, 
shouting  into  those  half-deafened  ears  and  half-stunned 
spirits,  "  Fifteen  rods,  boys — when  they  rise  that 
nighest  knoll — no  firing  till  then,  boys — no  firing 
till  you  hear  the  word — pick  out  your  man  and  hit 
him — don't  waste  a  grain  of  powder." 

Slowly  the  provincials  awoke  from  their  stupor. 
They  picked  their  flints,  renewed  their  primings,  sur- 
veyed the  slope  in  front  of  them,  took  aim  at  poii 
it,  and  recovered  their  pieces.     Some  of  them  cou^ 


246  A  Lover's  Revolt 

over  their  pound  or  so  of  bullets  as  a  miser  counts  his 
gold.  Those  who  could  show  seventeen  were  grumbled 
at  by  those  who  had  but  fifteen.  Others  were  objects 
of  envy  because  they  had  laid  in  a  store  of  slugs,  such 
as  nails,  crumbs  of  cast-iron,  and  whittlings  of  lead 
pipe.  It  was  clear  that  these  men  were  going  to  stand 
by  each  other  and  their  own  honor. 

**  It  's  a-gonter  be  rough  ploughin',"  confided  Abner 
Sly  to  a  comrade.  "  But  I  should  be  dredful  'shamed 
to  turn  my  back  on  the  boys." 

Then  arose  a  murmur,  "  Here  they  come!  "  Once 
more  every  eye  was  turned  toward  the  British  line. 
The  cherry-cheeked  boy  got  up,  pushed  his  ragged 
buff  cap  back  from  his  flaxen  forelock,  and  took  post 
beside  his  father,  saying  in  his  girlish  voice,  "  Daddy, 
tell  me  when." 

The  father  bent  down  and  muttered,  "  When  they 
rise  that  nighest  hummock.  Have  you  said  your 
prayers,  Johnny  ?  " 

The  child  looked  up  gravely  and  nodded ;  then  he 
added,  "  But,  daddy,  I  want  j^z^  to  tell  me  when." 

On  the  other  side,  down  among  the  scarlet  battal- 
ions, pious  John  Randon  was  praying  also,  and  per- 
chance many  another.  It  is  even  not  beyond  belief 
that  drunken  Blue  Peter,  with  his  three  hundred  scars 
on  his  back,  and  as  many  more  on  his  conscience,  was 
sending  aloft  some  vague  plea  to  be  spared  yet  another 
time. 

Nowhere  else  is  there  such  a  contrast  between  the 
outer  man  and  the  inner  as  on  the  battle-field.  Every 
figure  of  that  disciplined  array  set  forward  with  equal 
step  at  the  word  of  command ;  there  was  hardly  a 
shoulder  behind  the  general  line  of  shoulders;   there 


Bunker  Hill  247 

was  not  a  skulker  nor  a  lingerer.  A  superficial  ob- 
server would  have  supposed  that  all  these  wonderful 
soldiers  were  utterly  and  alike  fearless  of  death. 

Yet  many  among  them  would  have  been  glad  to 
imitate  the  example  of  those  provincials  who  had 
lurked  away  from  the  redoubt  to  the  sheltered  western 
slope  of  Bunker  Hill.  "  Nothing  could  exceed,"  wrote 
a  British  naval  officer  who  was  present,  "  the  panic 
and  apparent  dislike  of  most  of  the  king's  troops  to 
enter  into  this  engagement.  Even  at  the  landing  five 
actually  took  to  their  heels  to  join  the  Americans,  but 
were  brought  back,  and  two  of  them  hung  in  terror  em 
for  the  rest." 

But  now,  once  the  line  of  battle  formed,  discipline 
had  recovered  its  almost  superhuman  potency.  The 
habit  of  obedience  moved  every  man  as  if  he  were  an 
automaton.  The  officer  with  his  drawn  rapier  fol- 
lowed, and  behind  him  that  awful  spectre,  the  Regula- 
tions. It  was  surer  death  to  run  away  than  to  advance. 
And  so  all  of  them,  the  unwilling  and  the  zealous,  the 
cowardly  and  the  brave,  the  Blue  Peters  and  the  John 
Randons,  came  on  with  the  same  stride  and  much  the 
same  countenance. 

The  advance  was  more  like  a  parade  than  anything 
that  one  now  sees  in  battle.  The  step  was  ordinary 
marching-time,  but  slower  than  our  modern  quick- 
time.  Every  fifty  or  sixty  yards  the  battalions  halted 
and  rectified  the  alignment.  Sir  William  Howe  had 
decided  that  the  movement  must  be  regular;  and  to 
make  it  in  line,  with  regularity,  it  must  of  course  be 
deliberate.  Moreover,  the  men  were  loaded  with 
arms,  knapsacks,  and  rations  to  the  amount  of  one 
hundred    and  twenty-five  pounds,    as    British  writers 


248  A  Lover's  Revolt 

there  present  inform  us,  though  one  finds  it  hard  to 
believe.  The  grass,  too,  was  knee-high,  and  there  were 
fences  to  climb  or  to  throw  down,  and  the  sunshine  of 
middle  June  was  venomously  fierce. 

Immediately  on  the  English  advance  the  ships  and 
batteries  ceased  firing.  Probably  every  one  of  the 
fourteen  hundred  novices  in  the  American  line  drew  a 
deep  breath  of  relief  when  he  observed  that  that  up- 
roar of  four  hours  had  come  to  an  end.  If  there  were 
merely  men  to  fight,  and  not  also  tons  on  tons  of  flying 
iron,  the  wrestle  would  not  be  so  hard. 

Then  came  another  relief,  at  least  to  Prescott's 
people.  The  regiments  which  faced  the  breastwork, 
and  the  eastern  and  southern  fronts  of  the  redoubt, 
halted  at  the  base  of  the  slope  and  commenced  firing. 
Flight  after  flight  of  bullets  smote  the  earthen  rampart, 
or  whistled  over  it  to  patter  among  Putnam's  reserve 
on  Bunker  Hill.  The  Americans  squatted,  stared  at 
each  other  in  wonder,  and  tranquilly  awaited  orders. 

"It  's  a  feint  attack,"  said  an  elderly  lieutenant 
who  had  served  in  the  French  war.  "  They  want  to 
amuse  us  while  they  storm  the  rail  fence." 

He  pointed  toward  the  flat  between  Breed's  Hill  and 
Mystic  River.  Apparently  Howe  had  held  fast  to  his 
original  plan  of  turning  the  earthworks  and  gaining 
their  rear.  The  whole  English  right  wing  was  advan- 
cing, the  battery  and  part  of  the  grenadiers  against 
Knowlton,  the  remaining  grenadiers  and  the  light 
infantry  against  Stark  and  Reed.  Would  those  two 
masses  wheel  to  the  left  and  rush  into  the  gap  between 
Knowlton  and  the  breastwork  ?  No ;  they  tramped 
straight  onward;  they  passed  the  line  of  Breed's  Hill; 
they  were  quite  in  rear  of  it.     Only  the  guns,  on  reach- 


Bunker  Hill  249 

ing  the  soft  ground  near  the  morass,  went  into  battery 
there  and  opened  fire. 

Then  came  a  showy  tactical  manoeuvre.  The  double 
column  of  grenadiers  opened  right  and  left  like  a  huge 
machine  and  '*  displayed  "  into  line  with  beautiful  preci- 
sion ;  while,  beyond  it,  the  double  column  of  light 
infantry  broke  into  column  of  companies  inclining 
diagonally  to  the  right,  and  so  gradually  gaining  the 
shore  of  the  Mystic.  Then  the  whole  force  of  eight 
or  nine  hundred  men  swept  forward  at  the  marching 
step  and  without  firing.  The  extreme  left  flank  was 
within  musket-shot  of  the  breastwork  on  the  hill,  but 
not  a  grenadier  turned  his  head  in  his  leather  stock  to 
look  at  it. 

Ash  glanced  back  now  at  the  hay-fence.  His  first 
impression  was  that  nearly  all  the  Hampshire  and  Con- 
necticut people  must  have  run  away,  for  only  a  few 
scattered  heads  were  visible  over  the  flimsy  pretence  of 
an  entrenchment.  At  two  hundred  yards,  or  more,  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  distinguish  the  many  brown 
muzzles  which  were  sticking  through  holes  made  in 
the  grass  padding.  Seven  or  eight  hundred  good 
marksmen  were  kneeling  or  lying  there,  waiting  for  the 
English  to  reach  what  Stark  called  "  the  dead-line." 

They  were  fairly  ready  for  the  battle.  Stark  and 
Reed  had  doubled  and  wadded  their  section  of  the 
fence,  and  thrown  up  a  rough  stone  wall  from  the 
northern  end  of  it  down  to  the  river.  Finally  there 
had  been  a  murmuring  of  instructions  along  the  ranks: 

Ten  rods,  boys — not  a  shot  till  then — wait  for  the 
word,' '  etc. 

At  last,  when  the  foremost  grenadiers  and  light  in- 
fantry were  within  fifty  or  sixty  yards  of  the  fence,  the 


250  A  Lover's  Revolt 

deadly  order,  "  Fire!  "  rang  forth  in  a  prolonged  yell. 
Then  ensued  such  a  slaughter  as  the  oldest  English 
officers  present  had  never  seen,  not  even  at  Fontenoy 
or  Minden.  Gaps  opened  in  the  array  of  grenadiers 
which  Abercrombie  could  not  close,  nor  Howe.  The 
leading  company  of  light  infantry  was  nearly  exter- 
minated, and  then  the  next,  and  every  one  that  suc- 
cessively took  the  van. 

"  A  continued  sheet  of  fire,"  wrote  a  British  officer, 
"  poured  from  the  rebel  lines." 

"  Our  light  infantry,"  wrote  another,  "  was  served 
up  in  companies  against  the  fence  without  being  able 
to  penetrate.  Indeed,  how  could  we  penetrate  when 
whatever  company  presented  itself  lost  three  fourths, 
or  perhaps  nine  tenths,  of  its  men  ?  " 

The  sickening  ravage  soon  wrought  confusion  and 
dismay.  The  men  dropped  so  fast  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  re-form  the  broken  ranks  and  secure  that 
shoulder-to-shoulder  cohesion  upon  which  regulars  in 
those  days  so  largely  depended  for  victory.  In  vain 
did  Howe  spring  to  the  front  of  his  grenadiers  and 
shout,  "  I  ask  no  man  to  go  farther  than  I  will  myself. 
In  vain  did  Abercrombie  and  other  gallant  officers  ex- 
hort, plead,  push,  and  in  every  way  strive  to  force  a 
charge.  Retreating  men,  whom  they  caught  by  the 
arm  or  collar,  fell  dead  before  they  could  be  faced 
about.  The  officers,  too,  and  the  war-tried  sergeants, 
even  while  shouting  "  Forward!"  would  groan  and 
drop.  The  pitiless  blast  of  bullets  and  slugs  hissed 
steadily  into  the  clamorous,  disorderly,  reeling  groups 
which  had  taken  the  place  of  those  lately  aligned  and 
obedient  companies. 

At  last  human   nature  could  bear  the  torment  no 


Bunker  Hill  251 

longer.  The  gigantic  might  of  discipline  suddenly  lost 
its  hold,  and  some  hundreds  of  the  best  troops  in  the 
world  burst  rearward  on  a  run,  leaving  hundreds  of 
their  comrades  lifeless,  or  disabled,  or  crawling  feebly 
after  them.  Sir  William  Howe  (what  divinity  could 
have  saved  him  ?)  walked  off  the  field  alone,  his  white 
silk  stockings  dabbled  with  the  blood  of  his  grenadiers, 
for  every  tuft  of  grass  near  the  dead-line  bore  its 
witness  to  the  slaughter. 

But  in  a  surprisingly  short  time,  apparently  not  more 
than  ten  minutes,  discipline  re-established  its  super- 
human domination.  The  spirit  of  the  army,  and  those 
minor  afreets,  the  traditionary  pride  of  each  separate 
organization,  came  to  the  help  of  the  shattered  array. 
The  moment  these  old  soldiers  were  out  of  range  of 
the  bullets  they  fell  to  obeying  the  voices  of  their 
officers,  or,  if  these  had  fallen  silent,  the  mere  physical 
clatter  of  the  drums.  They  gathered  in  companies, 
extended  in  line,  counted  off  and  doubled  ranks,  pre- 
cisely as  if  on  parade. 

Then,  with  just  as  orderly  a  march  as  before,  they 
tramped  forward  again.  It  would  not  do  for  grena- 
diers and  light  infantry,  the  selected  men  and  bragga- 
docios of  their  respective  regiments,  to  let  themselves 
be  beaten  in  sight  of  the  line  companies.  They  would 
never  hear  the  last  of  it. 

This  time  Howe  permitted  them  to  use  their  muskets. 
Every  few  yards  they  halted,  fired  by  platoon,  and 
reloaded ;  then,  carefully  dressing  the  ranks,  they  ad- 
vanced fifty  yards  and  volleyed  again.  It  was  the  way 
Christians  killed  each  other  who  had  learned  warfare  in 
the  school  of  the  Great  Frederic,  and  had  not  learned 
from  anybody  that  it  is  best  to  look  along  the  barrel 


^52  A  Lover's  Revolt 

of  a  gun  before  pulling  the  trigger.  Old  men  who 
fought  against  these  laboriously  trained  soldiers  have 
sent  down  the  story  that  they  did  not  even  raise  the 
piece  to  the  shoulder  in  firing,  but  held  it  with  the  lock 
pressed  against  the  right  hip.  No  matter  how  they 
aimed,  they  hit  but  few  Yankees. 

At  last  they  were  among  the  thickly  strewn  bodies 
which  marked  the  dead-line.  And  now  several  hun- 
dred spouts  of  smoke  shot  out  from  the  hay-fence,  and 
as  many  shrill  whistles  of  death  flew  at  the  close  scar- 
let files.  There  was  many  a  sickening  chuck,  and  an 
answering  cry  of  pain  or  horror;  but  the  English  bore 
the  leaden  hail  firmly,  and  sent  back  their  platoon 
volleys.  A  long  struggle  ensued ;  some  of  the  com- 
batants estimated  it  at  fifteen  minutes,  but  that  seems 
hardly  possible.  Probably  the  aim  of  the  Americans 
was  not  so  sure  as  when  they  were  not  being  fired  at; 
and  no  doubt  the  Englishmen  were  steadied  by  the 
fact  that  they  were  doing  something  themselves,  and 
seemed  to  be  inflicting  damage.  At  all  events,  they 
stood  doggedly,  closing  up  over  their  fallen  comrades, 
and  bearing  themselves  like  choice  soldiers. 

But  they  could  not  fling  their  bullet-smitten  mass 
forward.  No  screaming  of  commands  and  entreaties 
could  arouse  the  impetus  for  a  charge.  Gallant  gentle- 
men and  scarred  veterans,  who  dashed  ahead  to  entice 
the  line  after,  fell  to  the  last  hero  of  them,  two  or 
three  at  the  foot  of  the  fence,  and  all  uselessly.  The 
massacre  was  insupportable ;  erelong  the  gaps  remained 
unfilled  except  by  dead ;  swarms  of  wounded  were 
reeling  or  creeping  to  the  rear;  the  companies  had 
become  ragged  squads,  the  timid  sidling  behind  the 
valiant;  and,  of  a  sudden,   there  was  a  recoil  which 


Bunker  Hill  253 

instantly  changed  to  flight.  Once  more,  as  if  hidden 
from  death  by  Olympian  clouds,  Howe  stood  alone  for 
a  moment  and  walked  away  unhurt. 

The  battle  on  this  wing  was  practically  over.  There 
was,  indeed,  a  third  rally ;  that  "  astonishing  infantry  " 
halted,  fell  in,  and  formed  up  as  before ;  but  their  com- 
mander admitted  that  such  a  mere  remnant  could  not 
carry  the  hay-fence.  Of  the  eight  or  nine  hundred 
brave  fellows  whom  he  had  led  forward,  not  more  than 
forty-five  minutes  before,  above  half  were  killed  or 
wounded.  The  two  flank  companies  of  the  Twenty- 
Third  regiment  lost  fifty-seven  out  of  a  total  of  eighty. 
The  light  company  of  the  Thirty-Fifth,  numbering 
thirty-eight  officers  and  men,  had  three  unhurt  surviv- 
ors. The  forty  grenadiers  of  the  same  regiment  were 
reduced,  before  the  battle  ended,  to  six. 

There  was  a  rapid  rearrangement.  Abercrombie 
marched  off  his  patient  grenadiers  to  support  Pigot  in 
the  attack  on  Breed's  Hill.  The  light  infantry  ad- 
vanced in  squads  to  skirmish  with  Stark,  Reed,  and 
Knowlton,  so  as  to  prevent  them  from  sending  a  de- 
tachment to  the  aid  of  Prescott.  There  was,  by  the 
way,  little  need  of  this  demonstration,  for  the  Ameri- 
cans behind  the  fence  had  so  nearly  exhausted  their 
sixteen  rounds  of  ammunition  that  they  had  been 
driven  to  use  charges  of  powder  which  would  scarcely 
reach.  Surgeon  Grant,  toiling  over  the  British 
wounded,  was  amazed  to  find  that  most  of  them  had 
been  hit  in  the  legs,  while  the  Americans,  as  we  know, 
had  aimed  at  the  waistbands. 

Now  followed  a  period  of  comparative  quiet  for  the 
provincials  on  the  Mystic  flat.  Captain  Trevett  came 
up  with  two  field-pieces,  and  fired  ^ight  four-pound 


254  A  Lovers  Revolt 

balls  at  the  British,  and  said  that  he  wished  he  had 
some  more.  The  Hampshire  men  made  port-holes  for 
Callender's  empty  guns,  and  took  sight  along  them 
at  the  light  infantry,  and  wondered  how  far  they  would 
carry.  Some  of  Knowlton's  people  became  impatient, 
and  sallied  out  to  hunt  the  retiring  grenadiers,  but 
were  ordered  back.  So  little  powder  remained  that  no 
one  returned  the  fire  of  the  redcoated  skirmishers, 
whose  bullets  whistled  numerously  over,  and  very 
rarely  through,  the  rustic  stockade. 

Various  men  amused  themselves  with  looking  for 
traces  of  the  combat  and  proofs  of  marksmanship.  Cap- 
tain Dearborn,  of  New  Hampshire,  curiously  studied 
an  apple  tree  behind  his  post,  which  had  not  received 
a  scar  up  to  the  height  of  a  tall  man's  head,  while 
above  that  point  trunk  and  branches  were  torn  to 
slivers.  In  front  of  the  Connecticut  line,  a  low  fence 
to  which  the  grenadiers  had  advanced  was  so  riddled 
by  Connecticut  bullets  that  a  boy  could  not  lay  a  hand 
on  any  single  rail  without  covering  one  or  more  shot- 
holes.  It  was  obvious  why  the  contest  here  had  ter- 
minated as  it  did  ;  the  New  Englanders  had  taken  aim, 
and  the  Old  Englanders  had  not. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE    REDOUBT 

ASH  FARNLEE  did  not  witness  the  second  attack 
of  the  grenadiers  and  light  infantry  upon  the 
rail  fence.  It  was  less  than  three  hundred  yards  from 
him,  and  he  could  have  seen  it  all  by  merely  turning 
his  face  that  way,  but  there  was  something  close  at 
hand  which  would  not  let  him  turn  his  face.  He  heard 
a  murmurous  "  They  are  coming,"  and,  wheeling  with 
a  dreadful  suspicion  that  the  English  were  close  under 
his  elbow,  he  saw  Pigot's  wing  advancing. 

It  was  a  broad  array,  somewhat  in  the  form  of  a 
crescent,  threatening  both  flanks  of  Prescott's  position. 
There  were  the  line  companies  of  four  regiments, 
averaging  forty  men  per  company,  and  a  battalion  of 
perhaps  two  hundred  marines,  making  nearly  fifteen 
hundred  bayonets.  In  front  of  the  breastwork  were 
the  Fifth  and  Fifty-Second,  the  former  holding  the 
right.  In  front  of  the  redoubt  were  the  Thirty- 
Eighth  and  Forty-Third,  and,  partly  around  the 
shoulder  of  the  hill,  the  marines.  Near  Charlestown 
stood  the  Forty-Seventh,  the  sole  reserve  of  the 
British  force  on  the  peninsula. 

The  advance  was  slow  and  methodical,  as  was  the 
fashion  of  that  martinet  age.  The  red-faced  men, 
sweltering  in  the  fierce  sunshine,  and  stooping  under 

255 


256  A  Lover's  Revolt 

their  ponderous  knapsacks,  floundered  through  grass 
which  hid  their  half-gaiters,  and  stopped  repeatedly 
to  climb  or  to  push  down  fences.  Then  the  left  got 
into  difficulties  with  a  swarm  of  Americans  who  had 
garrisoned  buildings  on  the  outskirts  of  Charlestown, 
There  was  a  sharp  skirmish  on  that  flank,  and  a  halt 
of  the  English  until  it  ended.  Meantime  the  Copp's 
Hill  battery  opened  angrily  with  shells  and  carcasses, 
while  boats  scudded  shoreward  from  the  Soinerset  bear- 
ing incendiary  parties,  so  that  in  a  few  minutes  the 
straggling  village  was  well  aflame. 

This  flank  once  cleared  of  provincials,  Pigot's  line 
recommenced  its  ascent.  Erelong  Farnlee  began  to 
distinguish  faces,  the  various  heights  of  different  men, 
the  decorated  uniforms  of  the  officers.  Once  he  re- 
membered to  look  for  Moorcastle;  but  in  the  next 
thirty  seconds  he  had  forgotten  him. 

On  the  extreme  right  there  was  a  tall  captain,  who 
had  audaciously  stepped  to  the  front  of  his  company 
and  was  climbing  composedly,  with  his  face  bowed 
downwards,  neither  looking  at  his  soldiers  nor  at  his 
enemies.  Ash  resolved  to  keep  his  eye  on  that  officer, 
and  bring  him  down  with  his  first  bullet.  But  he 
found  it  strangely  difficult  to  hold  his  mind  fixed  upon 
any  special  object.  Only  one  idea  was  constant  with 
him :  he  would  not  turn  his  back  upon  the  regulars,  he 
would  show  them — but  he  did  not  finish  the  thought. 

A  dragging,  stammering  wail  of  musketry  broke  out 
on  his  right;  it  was  in  the  redoubt,  but  his  first  im- 
pression was  that  it  came  from  the  enemy ;  and  he  was 
still  thinking  thus  when  it  swept  into  and  along  the 
breastwork.  For  minutes  back,  the  Americans  had 
been  watching  the   English,  with  their  firelocks  laid 


The  Redoubt 


257 


across  the  crumbly  earth  of  the  parapet.  Prescott, 
.  ,  waiting  until  the  red  line  was  within  fifteen  rods,  had 
quietly  given  the  order  to  commence  firing;  and  one 
after  another  the  hundreds  of  brown  barrels  had  re- 
sponded, each  sending  forth  a  hard  bark,  a  slender 
spit  of  smoke,  and  a  venomous  whistle. 

Ash  levelled  and  looked  for  his  captain,  the  gallant 
fellow  who  was  too  dangerous  to  be  let  live.  But  that 
particular  captain  had  vanished  as  suddenly  and  utterly 
as  if  the  earth  had  swallowed  him.  Our  youngster 
merely  saw  scarlet  figures  struggling  confusedly  behind 
a  gray,  writhing  vapor,  and  doing  he  could  not  tell 
what.  He  aimed  at  one,  whether  man  or  officer  he 
did  not  care,  and  hastily  pulled  trigger.  Then  for 
another  minute  he  saw  nothing  but  the  long,  tawny 
firelock  which  he  was  reloading. 

In  this  eager,  half-blind  way  he  fought  for  minutes, 
sometimes  discerning  a  flitting  shape  in  red,  sometimes 
a  group  which  might  be  approaching  or  might  be  re- 
treating, sometimes  a  green  slope  and  nothing  more. 
Meanwhile  there  was  a  whistling  of  bullets  past  him, 
and  once  or  twice  he  distinguished  the  sharp,  astonished 
cry  of  a  wounded  man,  though  whether  from  friend  or 
foe  he  could  not  be  sure,  and  did  not  much  care. 

He  was  reloading  for  the  sixth  or  seventh  time  when 
he  heard,  on  the  right,  long-drawn  yells  of  "  Cease 
firing!  "  The  steady  barking  of  musketry  subsided  to 
sputters,  to  single  shots,  to  silence.  The  smoke  in 
front  rapidly  cleared,  winding  into  shreds,  drifting 
southward,  vanishing.  Presently  he  leaned  over  the 
parapet  and  looked  wonderingly  for  the  scarlet  cres- 
cent. Only  a  few  fragments  of  it  were  visible,  and  those 
fragments  were  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  distant,  more 


258  A  Lover's  Revolt 

or  less  sheltered  by  knolls  and  fences.  The  first  assault 
on  Prescott's  entrenchments  had  been  bloodily  repulsed. 

"  I  wonder  if  they  call  that  fighting,"  said  Farnlee. 
*'  I  supposed  they  would  come  in  here  and  use  their 
bayonets." 

An  iron-gray  man,  with  the  scar  of  an  old  wound  on 
one  cheek-bone,  turned  to  him  and  made  some  reply. 
But  Ash  did  not  comprehend  him,  for  at  that  moment 
the  provincials  in  the  redoubt  broke  out  cheering,  and 
those  in  the  breastwork  responded  vociferously.  Then 
some  one  bellowed,  "God  save  the  king!  "  and  a  good 
many  laughed  at  the  sneer,  though  not  heartily,  as  if 
they  still  had  a  remnant  of  loyalty. 

The  scarred  man,  probably  a  veteran  of  the  French 
War,  now  repeated  his  remark  to  Ash:  **  They  tried 
hard  to  come  in,  sir.  They  mounted  at  more  than  one 
place.  There  was  an  officer  nigh  about  got  in,  toward 
the  middle  of  the  work.  Somebody  brought  him  down 
just  as  he  straightened  up." 

"  You  don't  say  so!  "  replied  our  surprised  youngster, 
and  hastened  to  finish  reloading. 

The  second  attack  on  the  fence  had  been  simultane- 
ous with  this  first  attack  on  the  hill,  and  the  result 
had  been  bloody  failure  along  the  whole  British  front 
from  Charlestown  to  Mystic  River.  Even  the  artillery, 
after  graping  Knowlton  without  effect,  and  trying  in 
vain  to  get  elevation  enough  to  enfilade  the  breast- 
work, was  so  harassed  by  a  flanking  ambuscade  of  pro- 
vincials under  Pomeroy  that  it  wrenched  its  guns  out 
of  the  puddly  morass  and  retired.  The  light  infantry 
began  its  long-range  skirmishing,  and  Abercrombie  led 
his  surviving  grenadiers  to  the  help  of  Pigot,  followed 
by  the  seemingly  nonchalant  Howe. 


The  Redoubt  259 

Henceforward  the  weight  of  the  British  battle  was 
to  fall  upon  the  redoubt  and  breastwork,  leaving  the 
New  Hampshire  men  in  peace. 

Ash  Farnlee  and  his  comrades  could  perceive  that 
the  scarlet  crescent  v/as  reorganizing  with  wonderful 
rapidity.  Officers  ran  about  in  the  hot  sunshine, 
shouting  in  hoarse,  tired  voices,  gesticulating  angrily, 
brandishing  their  rapiers,  sometimes  using  the  point. 
A  few  of  the  soldiers  had  retreated  toward  the  landing, 
but  they  were  hunted  down  by  sergeants  and  driven 
back.  Other  stragglers  were  suffered  to  crawl  or 
stagger  away  at  their  pleasure;  but  those,  as  Ash 
comprehended,  were  the  wounded;  and  he  compre- 
hended it  without  compassion.  There  were  so  many 
less  to  fight;  there  was  so  much  done — thank  Heaven! 
Moreover,  the  sight  of  the  conflagration  of  Charles- 
town,  only  a  third  of  a  mile  away,  was  enough  to  make 
him  pitiless.  Hundreds  of  dwellings  were  blazing; 
the  coasters  on  the  stocks  and  at  the  wharves  were 
blazing  also;  homes,  and  industries,  and  fortunes  were 
vanishing  in  smoke  and  flame.  It  was  a  magnificent 
and  an  infuriating  spectacle. 

Erelong,  by  way  of  preluding  the  second  assault,  the 
Copp's  Hill  battery  and  two  or  three  vessels  opened  on 
the  entrenchments.  The  Americans  fell  silent  for  a 
time  under  this  worrying  clamor,  but  resumed  their 
cheerfulness  when  Colonel  Prescott  made  the  rounds 
of  the  works,  and  even  hurrahed  a  little.  The  leader's 
grim,  sunburnt  face  looked  jaded,  but  it  also  looked 
determined  and  confident.  Of  course  he  had  some 
words  of  encouragement  and  instruction  for  his  men. 
They  must  and  could  hold  the  hill ;  they  must  reserve 
their  fire  till  the  British  were  within  thirty  yards ;  they 


26o  A   Lovers  Revolt 

must  choose  their  marks  and  make  every  shot  tell. 
Then,  with  a  cheerful,  springy  step,  he  strode  back  to 
the  redoubt. 

Ash  Farnlee  hoped  that  this  visit  from  the  com- 
mander had  made  all  the  men  feel  willing  to  conquer 
or  die.  But  the  next  minute  he  heard  a  fellow  say, 
"  I  wish  our  folks  would  beat,  or  else  the  British 
would;  I  'm  gittin'  dum  tired  of  this." 

By  this  time  Howe  had  organized  the  second  advance 
upon  the  redoubt  and  breastwork.  The  grenadiers 
were  on  the  extreme  right ;  the  Forty-Seventh  had 
moved  up  to  fill  a  gap  between  the  first  battalion  of 
marines  and  the  Forty-Third ;  the  line,  notwithstand- 
ing losses,  must  have  been  as  strong  as  ever.  No 
reserve  remained  but  the  second  battalion  of  marines, 
which  had  been  brought  over  for  that  purpose. 

The  troops  were  still  in  heavy  marching  trim,  and 
they  climbed  the  hill  in  their  former  deliberate  way. 
One  regiment  (of  course.  Ash  did  not  know  what  regi- 
ment) came  on  in  open  order,  the  files  ten  feet  apart 
and  twelve  men  deep.  The  halts  to  dress  the  ranks 
were  frequent,  and  after  each  one  the  companies  vol- 
leyed. The  balls  whistled  in  flights  over  the  parapet, 
and  skipped  rearward  as  far  as  the  eastern  slope  of 
Bunker  Hill,  pelting  and  demoralizing  the  reserve 
which  Putnam  was  trying  to  establish  there.  The 
guns  of  Copp's  Hill  bellowed  on  until  the  assailants 
were  half-way  up  to  the  redoubt.  The  shrouds  of 
the  vessels  in  the  harbor,  and  the  neighboring  shores 
and  eminences,  were  crowded  with  spectators.  Sel- 
dom has  a  battle  been  fought  amidst  such  an  array  of 
witnesses. 

This  time  Ash  was  prepared,  his  long  weapon  lying 


The  Redoubt  261 

across  the  parapet,  and  his  eye  fixed  on  one  particular 
Briton,  a  tall  soldier  whose  upturned  face  was  strangely 
stained  with  blue.  On  the  youngster's  right  stood  the 
cherry-cheeked  boy,  partly  covered  by  the  shoulder 
of  his  mild-eyed  father,  but  holding  his  fowling-piece 
steady  with  his  small  brown  hands,  and  calmly  squint- 
ing along  the  rusty  barrel.  Some  older  men  were 
not  behaving  so  well,  but  kept  their  heads  too  well 
covered  to  take  aim,  as  is  not  uncommon  behind 
fortifications. 

The  blue-faced  redcoat  came  steadily  onward.  At 
the  word  of  command  he  halted  and  fired  with  his 
comrades,  and  at  the  word  of  command  he  reloaded 
and  stalked  forward  with  his  comrades.  For  him  and 
for  the  others,  more  especially  those  of  the  front  rank, 
it  must  have  been  a  fearsome  situation.  He  could  not 
help  thinking  that  in  the  next  minute  his  rear-rank 
man  might  step  over  his  body  as  though  it  were  a  log 
of  wood.  Of  course  he  did  not  want  to  be  there;  he 
would  rather  have  been  taking  sixty  lashes  on  the 
Common.  But  discipline  had  got  him  in  its  pitiless 
clutch,  and  so  he  marched  on  with  even  pace  into  the 
jaws  of  death;  no  holy  martyr  ever  marched  more 
firmly  to  the  stake. 

At  last  the  two  lines  were  less  than  fifty  yards  apart. 
Ash  Farnlee  could  distinguish  that  Blue  Peter  had  one 
blackened  eye,  and  that  his  lips  were  smeared  black 
with  biting  cartridges,  when  he  forgot  him  in  the  sur- 
prise of  hearing  a  stentorian  voice  call  out,  "  Colonel 
Abercrombie,  are  the  Yankees  cowards  ?  " 

Glancing  over  one  shoulder,  he  caught  sight  of  a 
rusty  green  uniform,  queried  if  the  shouter  could  be 
Putnam,  and  thought  no  more  of  it  for  hours.     For 


262  A  Lover's  Revolt 

now  the  English  were  alarmingly  near,  and  Prescott 
screamed  out  the  order,  "  Fire!  " 

A  crash  of  musketry  broke  from  the  redoubt,  and 
clattered  swiftly  along  the  line  of  the  breastwork. 
Ash  did  not  shoot  the  blue-faced  man ;  that  man  had 
vanished  as  though  by  enchantment ;  it  may  have  been 
Abner  Sly  who  ended  the  career  of  Blue  Peter.  So 
Ash  aimed  at  some  other  redcoat,  and  dropped  back 
to  reload  with  all  speed. 

This  time  there  was  a  close  struggle  of  no  one  can 
say  how  many  minutes.  The  English  returned  bullet 
for  bullet,  and  thus  quelled  a  little  the  fire  of  the 
Americans,  or  at  least  rendered  it  less  cool  and  effect- 
ive. If  a  company  was  disordered,  its  officers  steadied 
it  promptly ;  or,  if  the  officers  had  fallen,  the  sergeants 
answered  nearly  as  well. 

The  long  scarlet  line  wavered  this  way  and  that  like 
a  huge  serpent.  Here  and  there  a  writhing  fold  of 
it  reached  the  parapet,  and  struggled  to  secure  a  hold. 
Once,  twice,  and  a  third  time  Captain  Harris  of  the 
Fifth  Foot  (later  in  life  Lord  Harris,  and  one  of 
the  conquerors  of  India)  clambered  up  the  face  of  the 
breastwork,  shouting  for  his  company  to  follow.  But 
twice  he  slipped  back,  and  then  a  shot  in  the  head 
flung  him  senseless  into  the  arms  of  his  lieutenant, 
young  Rawdon,  who  also  lived  to  be  great  in  arms  and 
famous  in  India.  A  thicket  of  bayonets  had  gathered 
around  Harris,  but  it  wavered  now  and  dropped  away 
from  the  parapet. 

Then  came  a  wild  flurry  of  fighting  which  confounded 
Farnlee  for  a  minute.  Suddenly  and  incomprehen- 
sibly, as  though  it  had  happened  in  a  nightmare,  he 
found  himself  struggling  with  a  tall,  handsome  man  in 


The  Redoubt  263 

the  red  uniform,  who  seemed  to  be  breathless  with 
fatigue  or  with  excitement.  Ash  parried  a  bayonet- 
thrust  with  his  gun,  and  then  drove  the  muzzle  of  it 
into  his  assailant's  shoulder,  throwing  him  backward. 
But  other  men  in  scarlet  were  at  hand,  the  foremost 
firing  or  lunging,  and  all  shouting  exultantly.  They 
were  the  grenadiers  of  Abercrombie,  turning  the  open 
flank  of  the  breastwork. 

Ash  sent  one  wild  shot  among  them,  and  ran  in  a 
panic  for  the  redoubt.  Other  men  ahead  of  him  were 
running  too,  some  of  them  struggling  and  jostling  into 
the  northern  sally-port,  some  disappearing  over  a  knoll 
which  lay  to  the  rear.  The  grenadiers  poured  on,  huz- 
zahing,  but  all  of  a  sudden  came  to  a  halt,  staring 
about  them  like  startled  cattle,  while  two  or  three 
shrieked  and  dropped.  A  sharp  fire  was  rattling  into 
them  from  skirmishers  on  their  right,  who  may  have 
been  Febiger's  detachment  from  Gerrish's  regiment, 
or  any  one  of  several  other  vagrant  squads  of  provin- 
cials, for  several  such  drifted  up  to  the  fighting  line, 
and  perhaps  drifted  back  as  swiftly. 

The  grenadiers  returned  this  fusillade,  but  immedi- 
ately another  began  upon  them  from  the  northern  face 
of  the  redoubt,  and  their  halt  changed  into  a  hesitating 
recoil.  Abercrombie  was  already  down,  and  they 
stood  in  sore  need  of  a  leader.  By  the  time  that  Ash 
Farnlee  had  reloaded  and  laid  his  piece  across  the 
parapet,  they  were  all  running  around  the  end  of  the 
breastwork,  except  a  few  who  would  never  answer  roll- 
call  again. 

In  fact,  a  recall  had  been  sounded,  though  these 
stormers  could  hardly  have  heard  it.  The  whole  line 
had  suffered  severely,  and  was  in  hopeless  confusion. 


264  A  Lovers  Revolt 

All  at  once  hundreds  of  scarlet  uniforms  hasted  down 
the  slope,  pursued  by  a  loose  but  telling  fire  of  balls 
and  slugs.  Of  the  four  brave  fellows  who  carried  off 
Captain  Harris,  one  was  killed  and  two  wounded  before 
he  could  be  got  out  of  range.  The  men  in  general 
were  much  disheartened;  many  of  them  were  deter- 
mined to  fight  no  more.  They  ran  by  their  officers, 
panted  clear  across  the  scorching  flat,  and  flung  them- 
selves into  the  boats. 

The  Americans  hurrahed  loudly,  and  reoccupied 
the  breastwork.  Ash  Farnlee,  as  he  strode  back  to 
his  post  on  the  extreme  left,  stepped  over  the  bodies 
of  the  cherry-cheeked  boy  and  his  father  without  feel- 
ing a  throb  of  pity  or  horror,  so  exultant  was  he  over 
the  repulse  of  the  English. 

-  Hours  later,  when  the  battle  madness  had  quite 
ended,  the  sight  of  a  sufferer  with  a  shattered  leg 
made  him  cringe  in  every  fibre  and  implore  the  operat- 
ing surgeon  for  God's  sake  to  be  gentle. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

HAND   TO   HAND 

THE  exulting  of  the  Americans  over  the  English 
recoil  subsided  to  grave  silence  as  they  turned  up 
their  nearly  empty  powder-horns  and  looked  about 
them  for  vanished  comrades. 

This  last  protracted  struggle  had  woefully  reduced 
the  ammunition.  Excepting  a  few  newly  arrived 
stragglers,  nobody  had  more  than  three  or  four  charges 
of  powder  left,  and  very  many  had  nothing  but  slugs 
in  place  of  bullets.  As  for  the  double  rank  of  defend- 
ers which  lately  lined  the  parapet,  what  had  become 
of  it  ?  Prescott  came  out  of  the  sally-port,  glared 
angrily  along  the  breastwork,  and  demanded,  "  Where 
are  Frye's  and  Bridge's  men  ?  " 

"  Some  have  gone,"  admitted  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Parker.  "  But  they  had  really  used  up  their  muni- 
tions. Colonel.  What  was  the  use  of  their  staying  ? 
No  bayonets,  you  know." 

"  Your  people  had  better  go  into  the  redoubt,"  ad- 
vised Prescott.  Then  he  turned  to  Farnlee,  and 
added,  "  Captain,  find  General  Putnam,  and  advise 
him  of  the  state  we  are  in.  Tell  him  I  need  men  and 
powder  and  ball  to  make  sure  of  victory.  Tell  him  I 
distinctly  understood  that  I  was  to  be  re-enforced.  If 
he  can't  drive  those  skulkers  on,  perhaps  he  can  lead 
them  on." 

265 


266  A  Lovers  Revolt 

He  was  very  bitter,  as  a  man  may  well  be  who  is 
doing  his  whole  duty  nobly,  but  finds  that  he  is  in 
danger  of  defeat  through  the  fault  of  others. 

Ash  shouldered  his  gun  and  ran  with  all  speed  toward 
Bunker  Hill.  Ahead  of  him,  but  especially  on  the 
hollowing  saddle  which  unites  the  two  eminences,  were 
squads  of  men  retiring,  some  of  them  escorting  wounded 
comrades,  ten  or  twenty  around  a  single  sufferer, 
though  only  four  or  five  could  get  their  hands  on  him. 
One  entire  company,  formed  in  double  file,  was  re- 
treating in  good  order.  Another  company,  advancing 
in  line,  met  it,  halted  it,  levelled  firelocks,  and  forced 
it  to  'bout  face.  The  balls  of  Copp's  Hill  battery  were 
flying  over  the  redoubt,  and  bouncing  about  in  an  un- 
certain, hateful  way.  A  single  gray-haired  horseman, 
in  a  green  and  scarlet  uniform,  was  lashing  his  sweating 
horse  through  this  iron  storm,  gesticulating  eagerly  to 
the  anxious-eyed  stragglers,  and  hoarsely  urging  them 
back  to  the  battle.  Farnlee  halted  him,  and  hastily 
repeated  Prescott's  message. 

"  God's  curse  I  "  shouted  Putnam,  "  I  wish  I  could 
get  re-enforcements  to  him.  There  goes  forward  the 
last  of  my  own  reserve,  rallying  a  gang  of  stragglers. 
Some  of  your  Massachusetts  men  have  gone  up,  too — 
to  please  themselves,  not  me.  They  would  mind  a 
British  general  quicker  than  a  Connecticut  one.  Ger- 
rish  is  back  there  behind  the  hill,  sweating  with  heat 
and  fright.  His  men  are  staring  at  him  and  waiting 
for  him  to  move.  God's  curse!  what  an  army!  The 
men  are  as  good  as  others;  but  it  's  not  an  army." 

'*  Can't  you  lead  them  up  ?  "  asked  Farnlee,  who 
felt  bound  to  repeat  all  of  Prescott's  message,  though 
it  suggested  a  reproach. 


Hand  to   Hand  267 

**  Have  n't  I  been  up  there!  "  shouted  Putnam,  in- 
dignantly. "  How  many  of  them  have  followed  me? 
Six  times  this  old  horse  has  gone  through  the  cannon- 
ade to  show  the  way.  Tell  Colonel  Prescott  that  I  am 
doing  my  best,  as  he  is  doing  his.  But  hereafter,  if 
we  want  to  win  battles,  we  must  have  one  government 
for  all  the  provinces." 

Here  he  dashed  off  to  check  and  rally  fugitives, 
while  Farnlee  hastened  back  to  the  redoubt. 

A  troubled  scowl  was  the  sole  comment  which  Pres- 
cott rendered  upon  Putnam's  message.  But  he  strode 
swiftly  to  the  eastern  front  of  the  redoubt,  and  ad- 
dressed some  earnest  words  to  a  gayly  dressed  man 
who  was  leaning  over  the  parapet,  apparently  studying 
the  reorganization  of  the  British  array.  Ash  could  not 
hear  the  dialogue,  but  he  saw  this  man  turn  to  look  at 
the  rearward  hill,  and  then  shake  his  head  with  a  sad 
smile.  It  was  the  President  of  that  Committee  of 
Safety  whose  recommendation  had  brought  on  this 
battle.  Farnlee  guessed  that  Prescott  had  urged  War- 
ren to  go  and  take  command  of  the  Massachusetts  men 
on  Bunker  Hill,  and  that  Warren  had  professed  his 
inability  to  bring  order  out  of  that  simmering  chaos. 

Meantime  the  redoubt  was  preparing  for  its  final 
struggle.  At  this  moment,  if  we  may  trust  to  the 
hasty  and  no  doubt  troubled  observation  of  Prescott, 
there  were  not  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  ser- 
viceable men  in  it.  Not  very  many  had  been  hit,  but 
nearly  every  wounded  man  had  been  borne  to  the  rear, 
and  rarely  indeed  had  the  bearers  returned.  All  those, 
also,  who  were  quite  without  ammunition,  and  all  who 
were  of  a  specially  timid  nature,  had  departed.  So  it 
ever  is  in  undisciplined  armies;  so  it  would  have  been 


268  A  Lover's  Revolt 

with  the  English  if  they  had  chosen  their  own  officers ; 
so  it  has  been,  or  worse,  in  every  field-engagement  of 
the  American  militia,  except  perhaps  at  Bennington. 

Those  who  remained  were  the  flower  of  the  original 
eight  hundred.  They  were  all  there  willingly;  all 
volunteers  for  a  forlorn  hope.  It  seems  impossible 
that,  with  four  or  five  shots  apiece  and  with  perhaps 
forty  or  fifty  bayonets  in  all,  they  could  have  had  a 
strong  expectation  of  beating  off  the  attack  of  twelve 
or  fifteen  hundred  veterans,  abundantly  furnished  with 
arms  and  ammunition.  But  they  were  ashamed  to 
desert  their  leader,  and  he  would  not  leave  his  post 
till  he  was  pushed  out  of  it. 

Quietly  and  intelligently  they  made  their  final  ar- 
rangements. A  few  cannon  cartridges  had  been  left 
by  Gridley's  section  of  artillery,  and  the  coarse  powder 
was  served  out  to  those  who  had  least  or  none,  every 
grain  being  husbanded  like  food  among  starving  men. 
All  the  loose  stones  in  the  redoubt  were  gathered  into 
piles  for  throwing.  The  men  who  had  bayonets  were 
assigned  to  such  parts  of  the  defences  as  seemed  most 
assailable.  Not  a  foot  of  that  trampled  and  bloody 
earth  did  Prescott  mean  to  give  up  while  he  had  a 
round  of  ammunition  left.  He  fought  his  redoubt  as 
John  Paul  Jones  afterwards  fought  his  frigate. 

The  English  also  put  their  last  ounce  of  strength 
into  the  closing  wrestle.  By  Howe's  permission  the 
soldiers  unslung  their  knapsacks,  and  many  of  them 
took  off  their  coats  and  stocks.  Clinton  rowed  over 
from  Boston,  seized  upon  the  second  battalion  of 
marines,  and  pushed  it  forward  to  the  extreme  left  of 
the  scarlet  line,  where  it  could  reach  around  the  south- 
western angle  of  the  redoubt.     There  was  not  a  platoon 


Hand  to  Hand  269 

of  infantry  left  in  the  way  of  reserve.  If  the  Ameri- 
cans could  have  gathered  men  and  bullets  enough  to 
again  repulse  the  English,  the  latter  would  have  had 
nothing  to  rally  upon  but  two  light  batteries  and  the 
fire  of  their  shipping. 

Once  more  the  long  semicircle  of  bayonets  com- 
menced that  bloody  ascent.  Once  more,  after  several 
alignments  and  volley ings,  it  gathered  around  those 
low  mounds  of  raw  earth,  which  a  man  could  run  over. 
Then  came  the  firing  of  the  defenders.  Just  think  of 
the  fatalness  of  it,  if  they  aimed — thirty  yards  for 
squirrel-hunters!  The  second  battalion  of  marines — 
surely  not  more  than  two  hundred  men — lost  forty  in 
this  single  assault. 

But  the  English  had  only  to  endure  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  victory  was  certain.  Their  wonderful  dis- 
cipline and  their  hold-fast  temper  carried  them  through. 
Erelong  the  shots  from  the  defences  became  rare,  and 
the  cries  of  death-stricken  men  outside  rarer  still. 
Some  of  the  Americans  began  to  hurl  stones,  revealing 
their  lack  of  ammunition,  and  thus  cheering  the  assail- 
ants. Groups  of  bayonets  gathered  here  and  there, 
wavered  menacingly  just  without  the  parapet,  and 
strove  to  mount. 

For  a  brief  time  these  surges  of  steel  were  steadily 
repelled.  Prescott,  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  re- 
doubt, hurried  squads  from  one  endangered  point  to 
another.  Valiant  British  officers  who  sprang  upon  the 
rampart  were  flung  backward  by  thrusts  or  blows  of 
musket-butts,  or  a  final  slug  from  some  powder-fouled 
muzzle.  Then  the  bayonets  would  recoil  a  yard  or 
two,  but  in  a  moment  they  would  quiver  close  again. 
Moreover,  there  was  no  repose  for  the  garrison,  for  the 


270  A  Lover's  Revolt 

redoubt  was  attacked  on  three  sides.  There  were 
marines  around  the  southwestern  corner,  and  grenadiers 
around  the  northeastern,  and  line  companies  between. 

It  was  on  the  northern  front,  not  far  from  the  head 
of  the  breastwork,  that  Ash  Farnlee  concluded  his 
part  of  the  combat.  He  fired  at  a  captain  of  grenadiers 
who  was  boldly  leading  forward  the  remnant  of  his 
company.  He  saw  the  captain  fall;  but  then  he  saw 
the  lieutenant,  a  tall,  sandy-faced  young  fellow,  spring 
to  the  front ;  and  he  dropped  back  in  a  wild  hurry  to 
reload,  wondering  if  he  should  have  time.  He  had 
scarcely  poured  his  last  charge  of  powder  when  the 
lieutenant  stood  on  the  rampart,  waving  his  sword 
exultingly  and  shouting,  "  The  day  is  ours." 

There  were  provincials  close  beneath  him  on  either 
side,  firing  at  his  soldiers  or  at  other  grenadiers,  but 
he  had  no  time  to  notice  them,  or  anything  else  on 
earth.  A  youngster  who  stood  close  by  Farnlee 
levelled  his  long  firelock;  and  Lieutenant  John  Dal- 
rymple  fell  headlong  into  the  redoubt,  welcomed  by 
death  to  victory. 

Outside  was  his  company,  the  grenadiers  of  the 
Sixty-Third,  reduced  now  to  five  privates  and  a  ser- 
geant. The  sergeant  rallied  his  five  men ;  if  there  had 
been  but  one  left,  he  would  have  rallied  that  one;  and 
with  the  words,  **  Conquer  or  die,"  he  led  his  sublime 
fragment  into  the  redoubt.  If  Prescott  must  be 
beaten,  it  was  fit  and  consolatory  that  he  should 
be  beaten  by  such  men,  so  disciplined,  so  long-endur- 
ing, so  steadfast.  To  an  American  soldier  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  ask  England  to  remember  their  glory. 

At  this  moment  Ash  Farnlee  became  conscious  that 
the  redoubt  was  taken.     Behin4  him  arose  an  awful 


Hand  to   Hand  271 

clamor  of  hurrahing,  cursing,  shrieking,  mingled  with 
straggling  shots,  heavy  blows,  and  clashing  of  steel. 
The  firing  had  very  nearly  ceased,  for  the  two  parties 
were  wonderfully  crammed  together,  so  that  a  ball 
mieht  kill  friend  as  well  as  foe.  The  smoke  and  dust 
in  the  work  were  so  thick  that  it  was  impossible  to  see 
twenty  feet  with  distinctness.  But  the  fact  was  this : 
the  English  had  forced  an  entrance  on  three  sides 
almost  simultaneously;  and  the  Americans,  crowded 
into  the  centre,  were  jostling  and  fighting  their  way 
toward  the  sally-port. 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  this  reeling,  groping,  sav- 
age scuffle,  in  which  the  combatants  were  so  near  each 
other  that  they  could  have  shaken  hands,  and  yet  so 
blinded  that  they  could  hardly  see  to  lunge  and  strike. 
The  English,  exhausted  with  heat  and  fatigue,  did  not 
deliver  a  general  and  strenuous  onset,  only  a  few  of 
them  using  their  bayonets,  while  the  great  majority 
merely  shouted  over  their  victory,  not  even  aware, 
apparently,  that  there  was  still  fighting.  A  hundred 
or  so  of  the  Americans  reached  the  sally-port  and 
groped,  or  stumbled,  or  were  thrust  out  of  it,  and 
thence  took  to  their  heels.  Prescott  would  not  run, 
but  retreated  with  long  strides,  parrying  both  bayonet 
and  rapier,  though  his  clothing  was  pierced  in  several 
places. 

Outside  the  work,  the  slaughter  was  greater  than 
within,  for  the  Americans  had  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  a 
flanking  fire  from  the  marines  who  had  climbed  the 
southwestern  face  of  the  hill,  and  many  shots  also  fol- 
lowed them  from  the  line  companies  and  grenadiers. 
Here,  some  sixty  or  eighty  yards  from  the  sally-port, 
Ash  saw  Warren  waving  his  sword  as  if  for  a  rally,  and 


272  ,        A  Lovers  Revolt 

then  saw  him  clap  his  left  hand  to  his  head  just  behind 
the  ear  and  fall  softly  backward,  one  more  dead  hero, 
the  most  lamented  of  all. 

Down  on  the  Mystic  flat  there  was  still  battling:  the 
remnants  of  the  light  infantry  peppering  pertinaciously 
at  the  rail  fence;  a  column  of  grenadiers  and  linesmen 
struggling  in  vain  to  capture  a  stone  wall  held  by  the 
Connecticut  men;  the  Americans  victorious  along  this 
part  of  the  line,  but  outflanked,  and  obviously  sure  to 
retreat ;  in  the  end  marching  steadily  off  the  field  and 
saving  one  of  their  four-pounders. 

But  on  Breed's  Hill  all  was  wreck  and  flight:  the 
Medford  road  and  the  open  fields  dotted  with  fugi- 
tives; the  Copp's  Hill  battery  and  the  floating  batteries 
playing  on  them  furiously;  old  Putnam  waving  his 
rapier,  and  cursing  to  bring  about  a  rally ;  not  a  man 
heeding  him.  The  hill  had  been  lost;  and  yet  it  was 
won  for  all  future  time — so  surely  won  that  no  marvel 
Warren  smiled  as  he  lay  there  dead. 

The  English  ofUcers,  smiling  also  from  their  victory, 
gathered  around  him  and  surveyed  him  intently. 

"  That  is  he,"  said  one.  "  I  remember  that  laced 
waistcoat." 

"  He  is  very  handsome,"  said  Major  Small.  "  I 
never  saw  a  handsomer  fellow  laid  out." 

"  It  makes  our  loss  equal,"  said  Howe.  "  That 
man  counts  for  five  hundred  rank  and  file." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

RESULTS   AND   REMINISCENCES 

FOR  some  days  Ash  Farnlee  was  very  sore  and 
angry  over  the  result  of  the  battle.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  the  English  had  surpassed  the  Americans 
in  manhood;  that  Moorcastle  and  his  brother  John 
Bulls  were  right  in  scorning  colonists  as  an  inferior 
race. 

To  be  sure,  he  had  fought;  and  the  men  just  around 
him  had  fought  ;  and  they  would  have  whipped, 
too,  if  they  had  had  more  ammunition.  But  the 
others  ?  He  felt  quite  sure  that  the  others  had  skulked  ; 
there  had  been  skulking  everywhere  but  just  where  he 
had  been  himself.  At  first  he  sympathized  entirely 
with  Prescott  and  Stark  in  denouncing  as  poltroons  a 
great  many  people,  most  of  whom  could  not  be  speci- 
fied by  name,  while  others  turned  up  among  the  killed 
and  wounded.  But  presently  he  discovered  that  these 
two  heroes  knew  almost  nothing  of  each  other's  bat- 
tlings. 

"  The  principal  loss  to  the  king's  troops  was  in  front 
of  the  rail  fence,"  said  the  positive  old  Colonel  who 
was  destined  to  conquer  at  Bennington. 

"  Bless  my  body!  what  do  you  mean  ?"  demanded 
Prescott.  "  We  repulsed  them  twice,  and  laid  them 
out  in  windrows." 

z8  273 


2  74  ^  Lover's  Revolt 

"  You  did! "  exclaimed  Stark.  "  It  's  perfectly  cer- 
tain that  we  did.  Two  assaults!  both  driven  back! 
most  wonderful  slaughter!  at  least  five  hundred  hit! 
Yes,  Colonel,  two  assaults!  " 

"  Bless  my  body!"  repeated  Prescott,  "  I  should 
like  to  know  when.  Oh,  well, — I  did  see  the  first ; 
I  remember  that." 

"  But  the  second  followed  within  twenty  minutes  of 
the  first.  Yes,  they  were  up  and  bunting  at  us  again 
within  twenty  minutes." 

"  You  don't  mean  it!  Ah — I  was  hotly  engaged 
then  myself ;  very,  verj/  hotly  engaged.  Colonel.  Three 
assaults.  Colonel ! " 

"  You  astonish  me.  I  should  have  said  two,  on 
your  side.  Well,  Prescott,  this  is  the  way  it  used  to 
be  in  the  Seven  Years  War.  A  man  never  knew 
much  about  a  battle  except  just  the  bit  where  he 
fought  himself." 

"  Exactly,"  Prescott  admitted,  with  a  reminiscent 
air.  "  And  he  always  thought  that  that  bit  was  the 
nub  of  the  whole  tussle." 

So  the  two  iron-gray  warriors  came  to  an  agreement 
on  this  point ;  but  erelong  they  locked  horns  again 
with  regard  to  the  number  of  casualties. 

Not  much  over  a  hundred  of  our  people  killed 
and  wounded,"  said  Prescott.  "  A  hundred  and 
forty,  at  the  outside ;  and  more  than  half  from  my 
battalion." 

**  Yours!  "  glowered  Stark.     *'  Why,  we  Hampshire 
men  lost  ninety-three;  that  is,  at  least  eighty-eight." 
How  the  dickens  could  that  happen  ?     Did  you 
lose  them  into  Mystic  River  ? " 

Stark  appealed  to  Knowlton,  but  the  Captain  knew 


Results  and  Reminiscences  275 

nothing  about  it  except  that  he  had  lost  forty-seven 
killed  and  wounded,  including  two  bayoneted. 

Yoii    lost    forty-seven?"    queried    Prescott.     "I 
thought  you  went  off  to  the  rear  with  Callender." 

Then  there  was  a  roar  of  laughter  from  the  three 
heroes,  Stark  and  Knowlton  opening  it,  and  Prescott 
joining  in. 

Eventually,  but  weeks  after  the  battle,  this  question 
of  casualties  was  settled  also.  It  appeared  that  the 
Americans  had  lost  about  four  hundred  and  fifty  killed 
and  wounded,  including  thirty  left  on  the  field  so 
mangled  with  bayonets  that  twenty  of  them  died 
within  a  few  days. 

"  Well,  that  will  do,"  said  Prescott  to  Aid-de-Camp 
Farnlee,  who  showed  him  the  returns.  **  That  's  a 
great  deal  better  outcome  for  those  other  fellows  than 
I  expected  them  to  make.  Frye  and  Bridge,  forty- 
four  each ;  that  's  not  so  bad  for  Frye  and  Bridge. 
But  my  regiment  held  the  hot  end  of  the  poker: 
seventy  hit,  besides  the  poor  fellows  not  accounted 
for;  that  settles  who  did  the  heavy  fighting.  But 
is  n't  it  astonishing  the  second  line  lost  so  many  ? 
Well,  it  serves  them  right  for  hanging  back,  instead  of 
coming  up  to  the  front  and  making  a  victory  of  it.  I 
am  always  pleased.  Captain,  when  I  see  a  skulker  get 
a  bullet.  Well,  well,  we  must  n't  grumble.  Heaven 
has  been  pretty  good  to  us — nearly  eleven  hundred 
redcoats  down !  How  many  more  ditches.  Captain, 
can  Gage  afford  to  buy  at  that  price  ? " 

In  short,  the  Americans  had  easily  come  to  talk  of 
the  battle  as  a  sort  of  victory;  and  the  officers  were 
eager  to  show,  each  for  himself,  that  his  command  had 
had  a  large  share  in  it ;  and  if  they  had  not  been  thus 


276  A  Lover's  Revolt 

emulous,  they  probably  would  not  have  been  good 
officers. 

But  Bunker  Hill,  though  a  defeat,  was  mightier  than 
most  victories;  it  was  a  tocsin  to  arms  throughout  the 
thirteen  Anglo-Saxon  colonies.  The  great  majority 
of  Americans,  more  especially  those  of  pure  English 
descent,  promptly  resolved  to  back  the  men  who  had 
defied  Gage's  insolent  proclamations  and  had  con- 
fronted his  veterans  with  chewed  bullets  and  pewter 
slugs  and  rusty  nails. 

There  was  little  more  talk  (except  in  a  lurking  way, 
and  mainly  among  gentlemen  attired  in  tar  and 
feathers)  about  submitting  to  the  pleasure  and  clem- 
ency of  his  Gracious  Majesty.  If  a  clergyman  preached 
a  poHtical  sermon  on  the  text,  "  I  will  arise  and  go 
unto  my  father,"  he  was  promptly  advised,  by  an 
irresistible  majority  of  his  congregation,  to  arise  and 
go  unto  Halifax.  The  old-time  loyalty,  a  sentiment 
which  lately  affected  everybody  but  Sam  Adams,  had 
been  mortally  blasted  by  a  few  hours  of  cannon  and 
musketry.  It  seemed  as  if  a  generation  of  Americans 
had  died,  and  a  totally  new  and  adverse  one  had  suc- 
ceeded it. 

Not  many  Yankee  tears  were  shed  over  the  one 
thousand  and  sixty  valiant  Englishmen  who  had  fallen 
for  ministry  and  king.  Pious  Doctor  Stiles,  sometime 
president  of  Yale  College,  ciphered  up  pages  on  pages 
of  his  diary  (paper  ever  so  many  shillings  a  pound)  to 
prove  to  himself  that  Putnam  had  laid  out  three 
thousand  of  them,  or,  better  yet,  five  thousand.  Pas- 
tor Peter  Thacher  was  comfortably  persuaded  "  yt  of 
three  thousand  who  marched  out  on  ye  expedition  no 
less  than  fifteen  hundred  were  killed  and  wounded." 


Results  and  Reminiscences  277 

Two  millions  of  people  who  had  prayed  all  their  lives 
for  the  success  of  the  English  army,  were  of  a  sud- 
den wild  with  eagerness  to  lick  that  army  out  of  its 
gaiters. 

In  short,  there  was  no  longer  any  question  of  divine 
right ;  not  even  much  interest  in  the  question  of  British 
rights  for  Americans;  but  a  burning  interest  in  the 
question  of  equal  manhood.  The  faction  of  Uncle 
Fenn  was  practically  dead ;  the  faction  of  old  Squire 
Farnlee  was  mortally  ill;  the  faction  of  young  Ash 
Farnlee  prevailed. 

This  revolutionary  fact  was  visible  to  the  eye  all 
about  Cambridge.  The  regiments  filled  up  ;  the 
soldiers  toiled  at  entrenchments  as  they  had  never 
toiled  at  their  harvests;  redoubts  and  breastworks 
sprouted  like  mushrooms  on  every  hill  from  Mystic 
River  to  Dorchester.  Furthermore,  the  provinces  of 
Connecticut,  Rhode  Island,  and  New  Hampshire,  ob- 
servant of  the  fatal  lack  of  united  action  in  the  late 
battle,  had  directed  their  forces  to  obey  the  orders  of 
the  Massachusetts  commander-in-chief. 

And  then  came  Washington,  the  noblest  figure  as 
yet  in  American  history,  nor  surpassed  for  nobility  in 
any  history.  He  captivated  at  once  an  army  which 
was  suffering  for  a  leader  who  should  be  an  incarnation 
of  nationality.  At  sight  of  the  magnificent  Virginian, 
Ash  Farnlee  forgot  all  his  personal  motives  for  taking 
up  arms.  He  wanted  to  die  for  that  man  and  America, 
the  two  together,  one  and  inseparable.  He  cracked 
his  voice  in  saluting  the  lofty  figure,  the  ample  spread 
of  blue  uniform,  the  ponderous  gold-lace  epaulets,  the 
grave  and  benign  countenance.  He  had  not  a  doubt 
of  such  a  general's  generalship.     His  heart  was  gone 


278  A  Lover's  Revolt 

again;  gone,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  beyond  recovery; 
gone  beyond  the  reach  of  woman. 

How  could  he  feel  otherwise  ?  Every  man  around 
him  was  sph'tting  his  throat ;  and  few  youths  can  resist 
the  magnetism  of  general  emotion.  Moreover,  there 
was  something  personal  in  his  excitement,  although 
he  did  not  know  it.  His  sore  and  lonely  heart  needed 
some  one  to  cling  to  and  worship;  furthermore  it 
wanted  an  avenger,  and  here  surely  was  one.  Here 
was  a  man  who  would  help  him  to  enter  Boston ;  to 
place  the  American  flag  above  the  English  ;  to  trample 
at  once  on  rival  and  false  ladye.  In  shouting  as  he  did 
for  Washington  he  was  shouting,  more  than  he  divined, 
for  himself. 

There  was  now  a  national  war-chief,  for  the  Congress 
at  Philadelphia  had  adopted  the  array  at  Cambridge  as 
a  Continental  army,  and  Washington  and  his  generals 
had  Continental  commissions.  He  took  hold  of  his 
military  duties  with  a  firm  hand ;  he  broke  up  and  re- 
organized divisions  and  brigades ;  he  sent  disorderliness 
to  the  whipping-post.  Everybody  in  the  whole  rabble 
encampment  obeyed  him,  and  wanted  to.  Everybody 
repeated  to  everybody  else  his  terse  counsels  and  his 
rare  utterances  of  opinion. 

One  day  Abner  Sly  beckoned  Ash  Farnlee  aside  and 
mumbled  in  his  Yankee  Doric:  "  Capting,  they  say 
his  Excellency  has  been  talkin'  abeout  Bunker  Hill. 
He  says  as  heow  that  battle  was  fit  on  our  side  by  a 
few  hundred  brave  chaps  that  wanted  to  fight  it,  and 
on  the  British  side  by  every  chap  that  came  over  from 
Bosting.  That  's  the  differ,  says  his  Excellency,  be- 
tween no  discipline  and  discipline." 

A  little  later  Old  Put  ran  against  our  staff-officer, 


Results  and  Reminiscences  279 

and  stopped  long  enough  to  murmur:  "  Have  you 
heard  his  Excellency's  opinion  of  the  battle  ?  He 
says  it  was  fought  on  our  side  by  a  few  hundred  brave 
men  who  chose  to  fight  it,  and  on  the  British  side  by 
every  man  who  made  the  landing.  That  is  the  differ- 
ence, says  his^  Excellency,  between  indiscipline  and 
discipline." 

Not  ten  minutes  afterward  Ash  encountered  his 
father,  who  laid  an  impressive  hand  on  his  shoulder 
and  said :  "  Asahel,  we  have  a  man  over  us  who  never 
speaks  but  he  sheds  light.  He  has  analyzed  our  late 
battle  with  a  discrimination  and  justness  which  make 
it  a  notable  lesson  in  warfare.  He  says  it  was  fought 
on  our  side  by  a  few  hundred  brave  men  who  elected 
to  fight  it,  and  on  the  British  side  by  every  man  on 
the  peninsula.  That  is  the  difference,  observed  his 
Excellency,  between  indiscipline  and  discipline." 

Ash  could  willingly  have  listened  to  the  tale  a  fourth 
time,  and  a  fifth,  and  a  tenth.  He  treasured  up  every 
word  that  he  heard  of  as  dropping  from  the  lips  of  his 
Excellency;  and  he  confidently  expected  that  an  Ex- 
cellency who  could  utter  such  words  would  soon  best 
the  British  lion.  His  father,  the  serious  and  shrewd 
old  lawyer,  was  equally  bewizarded  by  Washington. 

"  Asahel,"  he  said,  "  that  man  is  common-sense  and 
uprightness  raised  to  the  elevation  of  genius.  And 
the  most  astonishing  thing  about  him  is  that  when  he 
has  nothing  to  say  he  holds  his  tongue.  Asahel,  I 
have  lived  sixty  years  in  this  loquacious  world,  and  I 
never  before  saw  a  notable  man  who  was  great  enough 

for  that, — to  hold  his  tongue  when  he  had  nothing  to 

»» 
say. 

"  Father,"  said  Ash,  "  it  seems  to  me  that  we  are  a 


28o  A  Lovers  Revolt 

very  cheerful  set  of  beaten  people.  I  venture  to  be- 
lieve that  the  redcoats,  with  all  their  boasts  of  victory, 
have  not  half  our  cheerfulness  and  confidence." 

He  was  quite  correct.  The  garrison  of  Boston  was 
extremely  unhappy,  and  had  plenty  of  reasons  for  it. 
The  soldiers  had  long  been  overworked ;  fifteen  regi- 
ments, but  not  more  than  six  thousand  serviceable 
men;  off  fatigue-duty  at  night  and  on  picket  in  the 
morning.  And  now  had  come  this  woeful  victory  ;  two 
hundred  and  forty  comrades  to  bury;  more  than  eight 
hundred  in  hospital.  And  such  hospitals! — even 
officers  could  not  get  mutton  broth ;  no  money  could 
purchase  it.  Some  of  the  noblest  youth  of  England 
— limbs  off,  skulls  trepanned,  wounds  gangrened,  raving 
with  fever, — lay  between  life  and  death,  far  worse  off 
than  if  they  had  been  prisoners  among  the  Yankees. 

A  voice  of  growling  as  to  the  management  of  the 
late  battle  went  up  from  this  pitiable  army.  Of  course 
lieutenants  and  captains  could  not  catechise  and  con- 
fute and  reprove  major-generals;  nor  was  it  possible 
to  be  huffy  with  Sir  William's  staff-officers,  inasmuch 
as  the  entire  eleven  of  them  had  been  killed  or  wounded. 
But  whenever  Captain  Moorcastle,  the  confidential  aid 
of  General  Gage,  dropped  into  the  Swan  Tavern  for  a 
chat,  he  had  some  tactical  flings  to  put  up  with.  It 
was  rather  hard  on  him,  by  the  way,  for  he  had  been 
through  the  whole  of  the  battle,  butting  at  rail  fences 
and  earthworks  as  stubbornly  as  anybody,  and  receiv- 
ing three  shots  through  his  uniform.  Indeed,  Gage 
had  been  rather  savage  with  him  for  fighting  so  much, 
instead  of  attending  to  his  proper  business  of  carrying 
orders  and  transmitting  information. 

All  the  same,  he  was  treated  in  the  Swan  Tavern  like 


Results  and  Reminiscences  281 

a  scapegoat,  especially  by  fellows  of  his  own  honorable 
station  in  society.  One  of  the  severest  of  these  com- 
mentators was  an  "officer  of  rank"  (altogether  too 
high  in  family  to  be  named  by  the  discreet  reporters  of 
that  day),  a  tall  and  raw-boned  man  with  a  sandy  com- 
plexion, long  front  teeth,  and  eyes  which  reminded  one 
of  gray  granite. 

"  I  tell  you,  Moorcastle,"  said  this  impressive  per- 
sonage, "  the  victory  has  cost  us  dear,  very  dear  indeed. 
Nor  do  I  see  that  we  have  got  one  solid  benefit  in 
return,  or  that  we  are  likely  to  get  any.  Unless,  in- 
deed, it  is  an  advantage  to  learn  that  the  Americans 
are  as  good  soldiers  as  ours  when  they  are  as  well 
handled.  And  let  me  add  that  I  am  not  alone  in  this 
opinion.  Since  I  landed  here  an  officer  who  was  in 
both  these  late  affairs  has  assured  me  that  the  king's 
troops  would  have  been  totally  destroyed  in  each  if 
the  provincials  had  known  their  own  strength." 

Before  Moorcastle  could  reply,  an  officer  of  the  navy, 
a  swarthy  little  man  with  merry  brown  eyes,  threw  in 
his  broadside.  "  I  am  with  you  there,  Colonel.  The 
Americans  are  not  the  poltroons  that  I  had  been  taught 
to  believe.  I  watched  them  closely  the  other  day ; 
they  disputed  every  inch  of  the  ground.  And  I  con- 
sider them  a  noble  people, — a  people  of  liberal  and 
noble  sentiments.  Who  can  blame  them  for  loving 
liberty  ?     Not  Englishmen,  I  hope." 

By  Jove,  no !  "  echoed  a  diminutive  youngster  in 
grenadier  uniform  who  bore  one  arm  nobly  in  a  sling. 
"  So  far  as  the  origins  of  this  fight  are  concerned  I  ac- 
quit the  colonists  of  all  blame.  I  wish  Lord  North  had 
to  head  us  in  person.  I  wish  it  was  his  skull  that  was 
laid  open   instead    of  poor  Harris's."     He  paused  a 


282  A  Lover's  Revolt 

moment,  and  then  added  with  feeHng:  "  Poor  Harris! 
I  wonder  if  he  '11  come  out  of  that.  Trepanning  is  a 
doosid  ugly  business." 

'*  Yes,  and  poor  Drew  !  "  added  a  light-infantry 
officer  who  was  twice  as  big  as  the  grenadier.  "  Three 
bullets  through  him,  two  contusions,  and  a  dislocated 
shoulder!  Of  course  he  can't  live,  though  he  's  in 
wonderful  spirits.  And  his  company !  thirty-five  hit 
out  of  thirty-eight  !  By  Jove,  what  a  bill!  What 
marksmen!  " 

"  Marksmen,  yes,  in  every  sense,"  said  the  navy 
man.  "  They  hit  the  mark  and  they  toed  the  mark. 
I  wanted  to  hurrah  for  Putnam's  fellows,  fighting  so 
gallantly /r<?  arts  et  focis.  But,  let  me  tell  you,  another 
such  onset  will  be  our  ruin.  We  may  make  a  dinner 
for  the  Yankees,  but  there  won't  be  enough  left  for 
their  supper." 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  began  Moorcastle,  "  I  don't 
know  that  I  can  argue  so  many  subjects  at  once.  I 
merely  enquire  why  you  come  at  me  with  this  tone  and 
manner.  You  seem  to  hold  me  personally  responsible 
for  something." 

Here  another  officer,  a  middle-aged  man  with  a  pen- 
sive, scholarly  face,  joined  in  the  dialogue:  ''Mon- 
sieur r aide  de  campy  we  can't  go  at  our  generals,  of 
course.  Yet  in  view  of  the  results  we  can't  help 
grumbling.  What  under  heaven  led  somebody  (we 
don't  undertake  to  say  which  somebody)  to  devise 
such  a  plan  of  battle  ?  " 

"  What  's  the  matter  with  the  plan,  Major  ?  "  de- 
manded Moorcastle.  "  General  Burgoyne  says  it  was 
perfect." 

"  Perfect!"  the  Major    groaned.       **  Perfect  for  a 


Results  and   Reminiscences  283 

parade,  I  grant  it.  General  Braddock  could  n't  have 
done  better.  But  for  a  battle  ?  Why,  we  did  n't  even 
reconnoitre  before  landing.  We  knew  nothing  about 
the  grass  fence  till  it  stopped  us  and  sent  us  back  for 
re-enforcements.  And  why  was  n't  that  fence  enfiladed 
by  the  navy  ?  Or  by  moving  up  the  Charles  River  in 
force  we  could  have  threatened  Putnam's  communica- 
tions, and  forced  him  to  abandon  the  eminence  without 
fighting.  But  no.  W^e  must  take  the  bull  by  the 
horns;  we  must  move  upon  the  front,  just  where  the 
foe  wanted  us ;  we  must  show  the  fair  ones  of  Boston 
how  British  soldiers  can  stand  fire.  I  hope  you  liked 
it  while  you  were  standing  it,  Moorcastle." 

"  Demmit,  I  did  n't  want  to  be  there,"  grumbled 
the  cynical  Captain.  "  I  went  there  because  a  gentle- 
man must." 

"  Yes;  and  a  poor  devil  in  the  ranks  must,  also. 
But  that  is  no  reason  why  both  should  have  their 
brains  knocked  out  against  the  solidest  point  of  the 
enemy's  position.  Our  tactics  are  founded  on  the 
military  maxim  that  Yankees  are  cowards.  And  so 
we  sacrifice  a  thousand  fine  soldiers  when  a  loss  of  two 
hundred  would  have  secured  the  peninsula,  and  perhaps 
given  us  a  thousand  prisoners  wherewith  to  impose 
terms." 

"  We  captured  a  boy,"  scoffed  the  little  grenadier. 
"  The  second  battalion  of  marines  surrounded  him  as 
he  was  turning  the  left  wing  of  our  army." 

''  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him,  Moorcastle  ?  " 
demanded  the  bluejacket.  "  Or  has  n't  the  council 
of  war  been  able  to  agree  ?  " 

"  The  General  has  let  him  loose,"  said  Moorcastle. 
"  He  was  n't  a  combatant." 


284  A   Lover's  Revolt 

"  Let  him  loose  !  That  's  dem'd  imprudent.  He 
may  build  a  redoubt  somewhere  and  shoot  a  hundred 
and  ten  of  our  marines.  That 's  the  exact  number  we 
lost  the  other  day.     Poor  devils  of  marines!  " 

"  Are  the  tarpaulins  crying  much  over  the  losses  of 
the  marines  ? "  asked  Moorcastle. 

"  The  tarpaulins  are  quite  capable  of  crying  when 
they  see  British  soldiers  massacred  and  repulsed/' 
retorted  the  naval  officer. 

Moorcastle  emptied  his  glass  of  punch,  and  sprang 
to  his  feet.  *'  What  is  the  use  of  flinging  all  this  at 
mef  he  demanded.  "A  retinue  officer  is  not  the 
commander-in-chief,  and  he  must  be  civil  to  his  com- 
mander-in-chief. I  can't  tell  his  Excellency  that  he 
is  a  mooncalf,  and  that  you  think  so ;  nor  do  I  believe 
that  you  wish  me  to  do  it." 

"  I  would  n't  mind,"  laughed  the  bluejacket. 

"  Why  not  go  at  your  admiral,  then  ?  Why  did  n't 
he  send  up  something  to  enfilade  the  grass  fence,  if  it 
was  so  easy  to  do  ? " 

"  Curst  if  I  know.  Perhaps  he  was  requested  not 
to  by  his  Excellency." 

"  Good-night,"  said  Moorcastle.  "  Before  I  come 
here  again,  I  '11  peep  through  the  window;  and  if  you 
have  your  hypped  faces  on,  I  '11  stay  outside,  demme 
if  I  don't." 

When  the  aid  had  departed,  the  naval  man  laughed 
softly  and  said,  "  We  have  rather  keelhauled  Moork 
to-night." 

"  And  I  had  n't  half  finished  my  lecture  on  tactics," 
added  the  Major.  "  When  shall  we  comprehend  that 
battles  are  not  parades  ?  When  shall  we  learn  not  to 
fight  just  where  and  how  the  enemy  pleases  ?  " 


Results  and  Reminiscences  285 

"  Oh,  wait  and  see,"  laughed  the  tiny  grenadier. 
"  Headquarters  will  be  cautious  enough  next  time. 
I  '11  wager  twenty  guineas  Sir  William  turns  out  a 
Fabius  Maximus — or  Minimus. " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

MOORCASTLE   RECOLLECTS   HULDAH 

MOORCASTLE  sulked  away  by  himself,  wonder- 
ing how  he  could  make  a  pleasant  evening  of  it. 
He  passed  the  Province  House,  where  the  commander- 
in-chief  dwelt,  and  he  passed  it  with  intentional  ex- 
pedition, for  he  knew  that  Gage  would  keelhaul  him 
worse  than  the  fellows  at  the  Swan  Tavern. 

His  Excellency  had  been  in  a  beastly  ill-humor  ever 
since  his  victory.  He  did  not  mean  to  be  exacting 
and  fault-finding  and  savage.  But  every  time  that  he 
thought  of  his  thousand  or  more  of  killed  and  wounded, 
every  time  that  he  wondered  what  sort  of  a  letter  the 
Secretary  of  War  would  write  him,  he  cringed  and 
pitied  himself  and  swore  at  whatever  came  handy. 
He  wanted  somebody  to  share  his  sufferings,  and  so 
he  grumbled  right  and  left,  like  certain  invalids. 

Moorcastle  was  tired  of  work  and  worry ;  of  writing 
or  dictating  letters  and  orders  by  the  ream ;  of  listen- 
ing to  no  end  of  dolorous  snarling.  He  was  determined 
that  headquarters  should  not  mount  him  again  before 
he  had  had  one  evening  of  pleasaunce,  or  at  least  one 
long  night  of  slumber.  It  had  been  his  intention  to 
play  cards  till  midnight  at  the  Swan  Tavern ;  but  the 
fellows  there  had  turned  up  too  deuced  rusty,  and  con- 
troversial, and  Whiggish.     As  a  man  with  an  interior 

286 


Moorcastle  Recollects  Huldah  287 

adamantine  opinion  of  his  own  he  felt  no  less  disgusted 
with  the  result  of  headquarter  tactics  than  the  others. 
But  as  a  staff-officer  he  preferred  to  keep  out  of  those 
anti-ministerial  growleries. 

The  Boston  which  he  now  promenaded  was  not  cal- 
culated to  amuse  and  cheer.  Of  the  sixteen  or  seven- 
teen thousand  inhabitants,  nine  or  ten  thousand  had 
contrived  to  get  out  of  it ;  and  their  once  prosperous 
presence  had  been  poorly  replaced  by  twelve  or  fifteen 
hundred  beggared  loyalist  refugees.  Such  burghers 
as  remained,  excepting  a  few  government  officials  and 
a  few  well-to-do  people  like  the  Oakbridges,  were  on 
the  confines  of  pauperism.  Salted  provisions  were 
very  dear,  and  fresh  provisions  were  a  memory,  a 
vision.  The  Regulators  had  all  they  could  do  to  save 
the  nearly  deserted  city  from  being  plundered  and 
burned  by  a  ragged,  half-famished  rabble. 

Where  should  Moorcastle  seek  refuge  from  the  dis- 
malness  of  things  in  general  ?  Why  not  with  Huldah 
Oakbridge  ?  He  had  not  had  an  evening  with  that 
little  girl  since — when  was  it  ?  Well,  it  was  quite  a 
while  ago  ;  it  was  before  the  battle.  What  a  tragedy  it 
is,  by  the  way,  for  a  girl  to  love  a  man  who  has  a  dis- 
tracting amount  of  hard,  fierce,  masculine  work  to  do ! 

Moorcastle  found  nobody  in  the  Oakbridge  house 
besides  Uncle  Fenn.  But  the  venerable  Tory  was  so 
rejoiced  to  see  a  British  officer,  and  made  such  a 
pathetic  grab  at  his  honoring  society,  that  the  Captain 
deigned  to  take  a  seat  in  the  prim  little  parlor,  glancing 
the  while  at  the  corner  where  he  used  to  trifle  with  the 
old  man's  niece. 

"  What  a  glorious  victory!"  smirked  the  parson. 
"  Alas  that  it  should  have  cost  one  drop  of  loyal  blood ! 


288  A  Lover's  Revolt 

I  have  been  to  the  hospitals  during  the  day,  doing 
what  little  this  old  body  is  capable  of,  until  I  tremble 
like  a  leaf.  Oh,  those  poor,  valiant,  noble  fellows, 
maimed  and  massacred  in  fighting  for  their  king!  I 
have  beheld  such  spectacles  of  suffering  heroism " 

"  For  God's  sake,  don't  tell  me  of  it!  "  protested 
Moorcastle,  who  had  heard  enough  concerning  the 
cruel  cost  of  that  fruitless  victory. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Uncle  Fenn,  in  a  compassionating 
tone,  as  we  talk  to  a  suffering  child.  "  We  will  speak 
of  more  cheerful  matters.  I  understand  that  that 
rascally  apothecary,  Warren,  was  really  and  truly  de- 
spatched. A  spendthrift,  bankrupted  apothecary  call- 
ing himself  a  patriot  and  a  statesman  !  One  can 
apprehend  what  the  rest  are  when  such  a  fellow  as  he 
is  their  leader.  And  the  whole  traitorous  borough  of 
Charlestown  is  in  ruins!  Those  banditti  must  be  con- 
vinced now  that  the  king's  troops  are  capable  of  driving 
them  from  their  strongest  holds.  I  wish  I  could  have 
seen  them  running  over  the  Neck  with  the  British 
bayonet  in  their  craven  backs." 

He  had  worked  himself  into  such  a  fury  of  loyalism 
as  to  half  believe  that  he  was  a  born  Englishman. 

"  We  did  n't  follow  them  up,"  said  Moorcastle, 
sulkily.     "  We  were  doosid  glad  to  get  rid  of  them." 

The  gouty  old  non-combatant  could  not  accept  the 
fighting  man's  moderate  statement  of  the  case. 

**  Ah,  you  were  considerate;  you  were  merciful.  I 
don't  understand  these  military  manoeuvres  and  strate- 
gies. For  my  part,  I  should  have  been  disposed  to 
cry,  *  On  to  Cambridge !  On  to  Roxbury ! '  But  doubt- 
less it  was  well  to  let  those  felons  gather  together  once 
more,  so  as  to  annihilate  them  at  a  blow." 


.1 


Moorcastle   Recollects  Huldah  289 

The  parson  talked  so  glibly  about  matters  which 
were  so  difficult  to  accomplish,  and  his  very  nearly 
bedridden  bloodthirstiness  was  so  provokingly  absurd, 
that  Moorcastle  wanted  to  contradict  and  tease  him. 

It  won't  be  so  easy  to  annihilate  them,"  he  said. 
**  They  are  up  to  their  eyes  in  fortifications.  They  are 
raising  earthworks  all  over  this  end  of  the  province. 
By  Jupiter,  nobody  ever  saw  such  entrenching,  not 
since  Julius  Caesar  left  Epirus. " 

Hiding,  hiding,  hiding!  "  exulted  the  venerable, 
bomb-proof  hero.  "  Hiding  like  woodchucks  in  holes 
of  the  earth!  But  the  British  bayonet,  by  God's 
gracious  help,  will  soon  dig  them  out." 

Then  Sister  Ann  burst  into  the  room  with  her  charac- 
teristic momentum,  as  burly,  and  ponderous,  and  eager 
as  a  fine  cow  rushing  after  a  bundle  of  fodder.  Her 
face  was  flushed,  her  coarse  brown  hair  tousled,  and 
her  dress  a  little  unhooked  behind.  On  sight  of  Moor- 
castle she  suddenly  courtesied  and  put  on  a  sycophantic 
smile  which  would  have  been  no  credit  to  a  beggar; 
but  she  could  not  at  once  suppress  the  heavings  of  her 
large  corporality,  and  when  she  spoke  her  manner  and 
voice  and  words  were  all  too  impressive. 

**  I  'm  just  'alf-'n'-'alf,"  she  panted,  dropping  into  a 
chair.  "  Half  dead  and  half  alive,"  she  added,  strug- 
gling for  her  breath  and  her  *'haitches."  "  Captain 
Moorksle,  excuse  me,  I  vow  I  'm  just  worn  to  rags, 
and  my  sister-in-law  the  same,  with  working  and  watch- 
ing over  those  poor  wounded.  How  Mother  Oak- 
bridge  stands  it,  slim  an'  flimpsey  an'  delicut  as  she 
is,  I  can't  see.  But  it  ain't  the  lifting  an'  nussing 
that  breaks  me;  it's  the  operations.  Oh,  Lud,  Lud ! 
what  sights !     And  those  poor  darlings  moaning  and 

«9 


290  A  Lover's  Revolt 

praying,  and  sending  last  messages  to  their  wives  and 
sweet 'arts!  " 

"Enough!  enough!"  cried  Uncle  Fenn.  "You 
are  paining  our  noble  friend." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  beg  your  pardon,  Captain  Moorksle," 
said  Sister  Ann.  "  I  did  n't  think  of  your  feelinks. 
I  'm  broken  up  never  so,  and  don't  rightly  know  what 
I  'm  about." 

"  We  have  got  good  news,"  continued  the  parson 
by  way  of  changing  the  subject.  "  The  rebels  are 
fairly  digging  themselves  under  ground  to  hide  from 
the  king's  troops." 

"  I  should  say  they  'd  best,"  snapped  Sister  Ann. 
"  Oh,  how  I  despise  'em  and  hate  'em !  It 's  puffeckly 
grieving  to  think  of  brave  British  soldiers  and  noble 
gen'lemen  being  murdered  by  such  contemptible 
wretches.  I  met  Mr.  Hulton  this  morning  —  his 
Majesty's  comishner  of  custms,  you  know.  Captain 
Moorksle— a  right-down,  honest,  true-'arted  English- 
man— he  deserves  his  position.  He  just  igspressed 
igsackly  my  feelinks  about  those  navvsty  provincials. 
Says  he,  '  They  are  a  most  rude,  degenerate,  depraved 
race.  I  am  mortified,'  says  he,  'when  I  think  that 
they  speak  English,  and  can  trace  descent  from  our 
own  stock.  There  is  n't  one  among  them,*  says  he, 
*  that  has  the  least  pretension  to  be  called  a  gen'leman.' 
That  's  just  what  Mr.  Hulton  said  to  me  this  very 
morning,  stanning  in  front  of  the  Province  'Ouse,  and 
General  Gage  not  a  fadom  off,  a-gittin'  onto  'is  'orse." 

This  narrative  seemed  to  interest  and  entertain  the 
noble  Captain.  Sister  Ann  observed  his  smiling  atten- 
tiveness,  and  thanked  him  with  her  own  sweetest 
smile.     By  the  way,  she  did  not  smile  upon  Uncle 


Moorcastle  Recollects  Huldah  291 

Fenn,  although  he  had  consented  unto  her  railings 
with  repeated  nods  and  chuckles  of  approbation.  How 
could  a  true  daughter  of  Highgate  notice  a  provincial 
man  of  God  when  there  was  an  epauleted  English-born 
son  of  Mars  in  the  room  ? 

"  Good  for  Hulton!"  said  Moorcastle.  "  Sturdy 
old  John  Bull,  Hulton!" 

He  flung  out  a  harsh  laugh  of  derision  (not  compre- 
hended by  his  two  auditors),  which  included  Hulton 
and  Sister  Ann  and  Parson  Fenn.  There  was  a  great 
deal  of  scorn  for  his  brother  humans  in  this  interesting 
young  man's  nature.  Small  respect  had  he  for  Ma- 
jesty's civil  servants  in  the  colonies,  especially  for 
those  of  British  birth  who  had  come  over  to  scrabble 
for  money. 

Until  lately,  too,  as  we  remember,  he  had  despised 
the  colonists,  all  of  them.  But  that  sentiment  had 
considerably  diminished  since  the  affairs  of  Concord 
and  Breed's  Hill.  An  Englishman  of  the  higher  sort 
(if  not  also  of  the  lower  sorts)  is  apt  to  contract  a  cer- 
tain respect  for  fellows  who  will  fight  him,  especially 
if  they  occasionally  lick  him — not  too  often.  Thus 
Moorcastle,  as  well  as  his  commander-in-chief,  had 
ceased  to  speak  of  the  rebels  as  a  "  despicable  rabble." 
But  in  regard  to  Americans  who  were  not  rebels,  he 
had  as  poor  an  opinion  of  them  as  ever,  and  held  them 
to  be  no  better  than  a  Britannic  commissioner  of  cus- 
toms, and  not  much  finer  than  a  female  from  Highgate. 

"  Hulton  has  n't  heard  the  latest  news,"  he  con- 
tinued, addressing  Uncle  Fenn  as  being  the  most  re- 
spectable of  his  two  ridiculous  listeners.  "  There  *s 
one  gentleman  along  with  Old  Put ;  I  mean  Colonel 
Washington  of  Virginia." 


292  A  Lover's  Revolt 

"  You  don't  mean  it!  "  gasped  the  parson.  "  Has 
Colonel  Washington  truly  repaired  to  the  rebel  camp  ? " 

"  As  general,"  said  Moorcastle.  "  As  commander- 
in-chief.  As  Excellency.  Of  course  they  must  have 
an  Excellency  to  treat  on  equal  terms  with  our  Excel- 
lency." 

Uncle  Fenn  flung  up  his  swollen  hands  and  raised 
his  watery  eyes  to  heaven.  The  one  American  whom 
he  had  thoroughly  respected  and  almost  adored  was 
George  Washington.  Franklin  was  a  common-born 
creature;  an  infidel  who  had  invented  lightning-rods 
to  parry  the  bolts  of  God's  just  anger;  a  fellow  who 
had  worked  with  his  hands  for  wages,  and  by  birth  a 
Dissenter.  But  George  Washington  was  a  gentleman, 
and  a  member  of  the  Church  of  England.  The  parson 
had  hitherto  refused  to  credit  the  rumor  that  his  single 
absolutely  great  and  respected  countryman  was  at 
heart  a  rebel. 

"  Oh,  Captain,  Captain  !  "  he  groaned.  "  There  falls 
a  prince  of  angels  from  heaven.  I  had  hoped  that  the 
Church  here  in  the  provinces  would  remain  altogether 
pure  of  treason.  True,  the  Johnsons  of  Connecticut 
had  gone  astray,  and  perhaps  some  others.  But  Brother 
Peters  and  many  more  of  our  fold  had  dared  martyrdom 
rather  than  be  silent  in  the  presence  of  sin.  I  had 
trusted  that  the  Church  here,  as  a  body,  would  hold 
fast  by  its  traditions,  its  doctrine,  and  its  king.  And 
now  Washington  has  fallen !  Who,  then,  is  safe  ? 
What  remains  untainted  ?  May  God  have  mercy  upon 
this  bedeviled  country!  Surely  Satan  has  been  un- 
chained." 

Moorcastle  began  to  feel  bored  by  his  company,  and 
to  show  it  by  shuffling  his  feet.     Sister  Ann  promptly 


Moorcastle  Recollects  Huldah  293 

introduced  a  subject  which  she  hoped  would  interest 
and  detain  him.  "I  'm  so  sorry  me  sister  was  n't 
here  to  receive  you,  Captain.  And  she  '11  be  never  so 
sorry,  too,  when  she  knows.  She  's  over  to  the  hos- 
pittle  (of  course  you  might  know  she  would  be)  a-caring 
for  those  blessed,  suffering  saints.  The  poor  dear  child 
runs,  and  watches,  and  endures  beyond  what  one  could 
believe.  It  vexes  me  ever  so  to  see  her  moiling  as  she 
do,  and  no  one  saying  thanks  to  her." 

At  this  point  Ann  suddenly  dissolved  a  small  portion 
of  her  substance  into  tears.  It  was  one  of  those  seizures 
that  the  sturdiest  of  females  are  subject  to  when  their 
nerves  are  shaken  by  fatigue,  and  lack  of  sleep,  or  other 
physical  worries.  She  remembered  just  then  that  the 
Captain  had  not  been  so  attentive  of  late  as  a  hero 
should  be  who  has  received  favors  and  is  welcome  to 
more;  she  called  to  mind  the  dreadful  possibility  that 
Huldah  might  not  catch  him,  after  all  her  risks  and 
yearnings;  and  she  could  not  suppress  a  leak  of  honest 
grief  and  spite. 

The  men  stared  at  her  in  a  perplexed,  discomforted 
way,  as  men  usually  stare  at  a  woman  crying,  when 
they  don't  want  to  kiss  her.  Sister  Ann  divined  their 
aversion  to  her  reddened  nose,  and  she  angrily  stanched 
her  gush  of  tenderness,  longing  to  cuff  them  both. 

"  I  suppose  you  must  think  I  'm  a  baby,"  she  quav- 
ered, trying  to  force  a  smile. 

"  I  say,  whatever  became  of  that  Lexington  fellow  ?  " 
was  Moorcastle's  irrelevant  response.  "  Farnlee  was 
his  name,  don't  you  recollect  ?  " 

Sister  Ann  was  so  astonished  and  worried  by  the 
query  that  her  pulpy  mouth  merely  fell  ajar  without 
replying.     Uncle  Fenn  answered  in  loud  excitement : 


294  A  Lover's  Revolt 

"  He  *s  one  of  the  pizenest  of  those  rattlesnakes. 
He  's  an  aid-de-camp  to  that  scoundrelly  old  Ward. 
He  calls  himself  a  captain." 

"  The  doose!  general  suite!"  laughed  Moorcastle, 
amused,  but  not  altogether  contemptuous.  "  Why, 
he  's  a  brother  officer  of  mine.  You  know  the  rebels  still 
pretend  that  their  army  is  in  the  service  of  his  Ma- 
jesty. Captain  Farnlee ! — my  equal  in  grade !  That  's 
a  rather  noteworthy  fellow,  don't  you  observe  ?  I 
looked  about  for  him,  now  and  then,  in  the  affair  of 
the  seventeenth.  Wonder  whether  he  was  knocked 
over  ? 

"  I  suttenly  'ope  so,"  snapped  Sister  Ann. 

Moorcastle  stared  at  her  without  showing  either 
sympathy  or  disapproval,  and  then  drew  up  his  long 
shining  boots  under  him  as  if  about  to  leave. 

"  If  you  would  only  wait.  Captain!  "  Ann  burst  out. 
"  I  could  run  round  to  the  hospittle  and  fetch 
Huldah." 

"  Oh,  doose  take  it!  n-o,"  drawled  the  Captain, 
rising  and  throwing  out  his  chest.  "  Do  you  think 
I  'm  so  selfish  as  all  that  ?  Let  her  stay  there  and 
comfort  those  poor  fellows,  Gedblesser." 

"  Yes,  God  bless  her,"  whimpered  Uncle  Fenn, 
touched  to  the  heart  at  hearing  the  high-born  redcoat 
speak  of  his  niece  so  kindly  and  piously.  But  he,  too, 
the  reverend  old  boot-licker  (not  ashamed  of  his 
flunkeyism,  but  glorying  in  it),  desired  in  an  absent- 
minded  way  that  the  girl  might  make  a  noble  bridal, 
or  at  least  be  intimate  with  nobles.  So  he  added,  "  If 
you  could  stop,  sir,  Ann  would  cheerfully  run  for  you." 

But  the  Captain  had  said  his  entire  say  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  would  not  trouble  himself  with  another  word 


Moorcastle  Recollects  Huldah  295 

about  it.  He  made  an  elegant  bow,  purely  for  his 
own  satisfaction,  and  strode  out  of  the  house  magnifi- 
cently. 

"  You  ought  to  have  thought  of  it  before,  Ann," 
said  Uncle  Fenn  when  they  two  were  alone. 

'*  I  've  been  trying  to  work  it  in  all  along,"  explained 
Ann,  rather  sulkily.  "  But  you  kept  on  with  your 
politics,  sir.  Of  course  he  come  for  her,  though  he 
would  n't  ask  for  her,  w^hich  I  wanted  to  make  him  do 
it." 

"  Ah, — I  did  n't  understand,"  the  parson  stam- 
mered. "  I  was  desirous  not  to  let  the  conversation 
drag." 

Ann  looked  at  him  sidelong  with  the  disgust  of  a 
pointer  for  an  ofificious  mastiff  who  bustles  in  barking 
and  runs  off  the  bird. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
HULDAH  AS  A  HOSPITAL  NURSE 

THE  fight  of  Bunker  Hill  had  been  a  terrible  busi- 
ness for  Huldah  Oakbridge.  The  cannonade  of 
the  morning  awoke  her  with  a  fright,  and  sent  her 
down  very  pale  to  the  breakfast  table,  where  she  ate 
next  to  nothing. 

"  There  will  be  no  battle,"  she  insisted  again  and 
again.  *'  The  Americans  will  go  back  to  Cambridge. 
Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

She  rose  repeatedly  from  table  to  run  to  the  window 
and  call  to  passers-by  for  news.  As  soon  as  possible 
she  and  Sister  Ann  hastened  to  Beacon  Hill  to  look  at 
the  redoubt,  coming  home  at  noon  dizzy  from  want  of 
food  and  nervous  agitation.  By  this  time  Huldah  was 
so  pale  that  her  mother  would  not  let  her  leave  the 
house  again.  For  hours  she  sat  with  her  head  between 
her  hands,  looking  at  the  table,  or  rather  at  vacancy, 
and  starting  at  every  outburst  of  cannon.  When  the 
long  wail  of  musketry  opened,  she  threw  a  wild  glare 
at  her  mother,  rose  to  her  feet  as  if  to  run,  and  fainted. 
Her  first  words,  on  recovering  her  senses,  were,  "  I 
know  he  is  killed." 

It  was  not  till  evening  that  Sister  Ann  came  in  with 
the  news  that  Captain  Moorcastle  had  got  back  to  the 
city  without  a  wound.  Huldah  smiled,  colored  vio- 
lently, turned  white  as  marble,  and  fainted  again. 

296 


Huldah  as  a  Hospital  Nurse  297 

Then  had  come  the  hospital  work;  all  the  little, 
forlorn  town  rushing  to  care  for  the  wounded;  patriot 
committees  and  loyalist  committees  organizing  in 
brotherhood  ;  people  who  had  not  spoken  to  each  other 
for  months  lifting  the  same  sufferer;  tears  of  bitter 
enemies  dropping  together  and  their  prayers  ascending 
together.  The  thirty  bayoneted  Americans  were 
promptly  and  gladly  received  into  sympathetic  house- 
holds. The  eight  hundred  bullet-torn  English,  after 
filling  the  stinted  military  hospitals,  overflowed  into 
warehouses  and  public  buildings. 

In  one  of  these  warehouses  Huldah  labored  for  days 
and  nights,  doing  work  which  she  would  have  thought 
beyond  her  strength,  and  witnessing  sights  such  as  she 
had  never  imagined.  She  watched  operations  without 
being  allowed  to  flinch  ;  she  carried  away  basins  full  of 
blood  and  tattered  flesh ;  she  did  anything  and  every- 
thing; it  was  horrible.  Now  and  then — that  is,  a 
thousand  times  a  day — she  remembered  Captain  Aloor- 
castle.  How  dreadful  (and  she  cringed  physically  at 
the  thought)  it  would  have  been  to  see  him  lying 
there !  like  that  boyish  lieutenant,  with  the  life-blood 
staining  the  bandages  on  his  throat  and  the  life-color 
gone  from  his  face !  or  like  that  young  grenadier  with 
the  regular  features,  whose  leg  was  off  close  to  his 
body,  and  who  must  die  to-morrow! 

Often  she  wondered  if  Moorcastle  would  come  there, 
and  so  find  her  doing  this  work,  and  love  her  for  it. 
Would  he  ever  know  how  frightened  she  had  been 
about  him  ?  Should  she  ever  be  permitted  to  tell  him 
of  it,  with  his  arm  perhaps  around  her,  and  his  sweet 
voice  thanking  her  ?  It  would  be  too  dreadful  to  have 
him  never  know ;  but  it  would  kill  her  to  find  out  that 


298  A  Lover's  Revolt 

he  did  not  care.  When  she  learned  that  a  week  had 
passed  without  his  calling  at  the  house  for  her,  she  did 
not  blame  him  nor  repine.  Of  course  he  had  a  terrible 
load  of  dreadful  things  to  do ;  he  probably  had  scarcely 
time  to  eat,  and  perhaps  no  time  at  all  to  sleep.  Poor, 
suffering,  noble,  lovely,  dear  Captain  Moorcastle ! 

Sister  Ann  had  never  before  seen  such  a  craze.  She 
marvelled  and  trembled  at  it,  though  seeking  to  believe 
that  such  love  must  win.  When  she  had  found  Moor- 
castle with  Uncle  Fenn,  and  comprehended  of  course 
that  he  was  there  to  see  Huldah,  she  had  joyfully 
trusted  that  he  was  full  of  feeling  concerning  the  girl. 
It  was  one  of  those  divinations  that  come  to  excited 
people:  one  out  of  ten  getting  fulfilled  and  remem- 
bered, the  others  forgotten.  We  can  imagine  the 
bitterness  with  which  she  discovered  that  he  would 
not  ask  for  Huldah,  nor  allow  her  to  be  sent  for.  As 
to  that  parting  speech  of  his — that  cold-blooded,  grim- 
aced "  Gedblesser,"— Ann  wanted  to  spit  at  him  for  it. 

Nevertheless,  hoping  feebly  that  the  phrase  might 
"  mean  something,"  she  very  soon  told  Huldah  of  it. 

* '  Oh ! — did  he  ? "  the  girl  gasped.  The  color  flooded 
her  worn  and  weary  face,  making  her  for  a  moment 
splendidly  beautiful.  Then  her  eyes  brimmed  with 
happy  tears,  and  she  hastened  away  to  an  empty  room 
of  the  hospital,  like  a  child  who  has  found  something 
precious  and  wants  to  look  at  it  alone.  Presently  Ann 
seized  an  opportunity  to  pass  the  door  of  the  room  and 
peep  within.  A  dead  man  had  just  been  carried  forth, 
and  there  were  stains  of  blood  on  the  floor.  Huldah 
sat  on  the  empty  cot,  her  pocket  Bible  in  her  lap,  one 
small  finger  between  the  leaves,  and  her  lips  moving. 
Was   she   praying  that  Heaven  would  bless   Captain 


Huldah  as  a  Hospital  Nurse  299 

Moorcastle  ?     People  in  love  have  done  stranger  and 
more  hopeless  things  than  that. 

Huldah  was  thus  withdrawn  from  earth  when  one 
of  the  military  nurses,  a  ghastly  man  with  a  blood- 
stained bandage  around  his  temples,  entered  the  room 
in  a  prim,  meek  way,  and  said,  ''  Please,  Miss,  could 
you  write  a  letter  for  Private  Randon  ? " 

Huldah  smiled,  dashed  a  hand  across  her  moistened 
eyes,  and  went  wearily  to  her  duty.  The  soldier 
guided  her  to  a  cot  in  one  corner  of  a  large  room  full 
of  wounded.  There  lay  John  Randon,  his  long  black 
hair  disordered,  his  once  brown  face  all  of  a  dusky 
yellow,  his  cheeks  sunken,  and  his  lips  tremulous.  In 
his  face  and  in  his  mere  whisper  of  a  voice  there  was 
the  pitiful  weakness  of  a  man  near  unto  death.  Yet 
he  had  not  lost  his  habitual  expression  of  devout  com- 
posure and  resignation;  and  Huldah  glanced  at  him 
with  solemn  awe  while  she  rendered  into  her  own 
English  these  broken  phrases : 

List  to  me,  wife,  whilst  I  gie  thee  this  my  dyin' 
charge.  Gie  theesel  to  God  ;  read  th'  Bible  an'  a'  good 
books;  be  o'  thim  that  seek  ahter  salvation.  Heaven 
an'  th'  love  o'  'r  heavenly  Feyther  be  th'  ownly  things 
thee  't  find  worthy  o'  a'  thy  thots.  Strive  to  bring  up 
th'  young  ones  i'  th'  fear  o'  God.  An'  you,  my  dill- 
ings,  seek  to  meet  me  i'  heaven,  ill  worthy  's  we  all  be 
t'  arrive  there.  Th'  warld  aloon  niver  yet  made  no 
one  happy.  Look  f  your  happiness  i'  God  through  a 
crucified  Redeemer.  More  would  I  say,  but  life  is 
faint  an'  voice  a-failen.  I  feel  that  I  bein'  summont 
swiftly  awa'.  Aye,  I  b'lieve  that  Jesus  is  bidden  me 
coom  an'  abide  wi'  'm  straightwa'  'n'  foriver. — Fare- 
well, dillings;  fare  thee  well,  wife." 


300  A  Lover's  Revolt 

As  Huldah  wrote,  her  tears  fell  on  the  paper  which 
was  to  be  read  and  doubtless  wept  over  by  the  lowly 
English  widow.  Now  and  then  she  dried  her  half- 
blinded  eyes,  and  so  struggled  on  to  the  end  of  her 
task.  The  letter  was  folded,  addressed,  and  handed 
to  the  soldier  nurse,  who  said  respectfully,  "  Thank 
you.  Miss." 

Then  dying  John  Randon,  with  the  meek  gratitude 
of  a  disciplined  soul,  whispered,  "  Thank  you.  Miss. 
God  be  good  t'  ye." 

His  eyes  closed  as  if  in  sleep,  looking  strangely  dark 
and  hollow.  A  surgeon  came  up,  bent  over  him, 
touched  his  wrist,  and  passed  on  to  others,  whom  he 
could  help.  Huldah  turned  from  that  whitening  face 
with  terror,  and  hastened  away  to  find  her  mother,  like 
any  other  scared  child. 

By  evening  the  girl  was  in  such  a  state  of  febrile  ex- 
citement that  it  was  judged  best  to  take  her  home. 
She  had  bursts  of  weeping;  wandered  about  the  house 
like  an  unhappy  ghost ;  threw  herself  on  her  bed  only 
to  get  up  again ;  talked  much  of  the  dead  John  Ran- 
don. He  was  so  good;  he  had  gone  to  heaven;  she 
should  never  see  him  again.  No,  indeed ;  she  was 
wicked;  everybody  hated  her;  even  God  hated  her. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  going  to  be  sick,  Huldah," 
said  her  mother,  and  sent  for  Doctor  Lloyd,  the  great 
physician  of  Boston.  The  doctor  came,  and  said  she 
was  worn  out ;  he  came  the  next  day,  and  said  she  had 
typhus  fever;  he  came  the  day  after,  and  said  she  had 
brain  fever. 

The  world  went  on  without  her.  The  soldiers  died, 
or  survived,  as  if  she  were  still  at  the  hospital.  George 
Washington  and  nearly  twenty  thousand  other  Yankees 


Huldah  as  a  Hospital   Nurse  301 

continued  to  invest  Boston,  and  General  Gage  con- 
tinued in  a  meek,  timid  way  to  let  him  know  that  he 
did  not  like  it. 

It  was  a  prudent,  hard-shovelling,  long-range  de- 
fence, without  a  sputter  of  what  tacticians  call  offensive 
returns.  Gage  built  a  mighty  earthwork  on  Bunker 
Hill,  and  a  line  of  earthworks  in  front  of  Boston  Neck. 
He  strengthened  his  batteries  at  Barton  Point  and  on 
the  sloppy  shore  of  the  Common.  If  he  saw  General 
Thomas  digging  around  Roxbury,  or  General  Putnam 
piling  clods  on  Prospect  Hill  or  Lechmere's  Point,  he 
bellowed  at  them  out  of  all  his  siege-pieces  and  mor- 
tars. Not  an  oysterman's  dugout  could  drop  down 
the  Charles  River  without  getting  a  furious  cast-iron 
reprimand.  Nothing  was  clearer  than  that  the  old- 
country  Excellency  wanted  the  provincial  Excellency 
to  keep  at  least  a  mile  or  two  away  from  him. 

It  must  be  understood  that  Gage  was  relatively 
nothing  like  so  strong  as  before  his  victory.  While 
the  American  force  had  increased,  his  own  was  slowly 
diminishing.  The  men  were  jaded  with  entrenching, 
cannonading,  night-alarms,  and  guard-duty ;  they  were 
lodged  in  clapboard  barracks,  or  under  rotten  tents, 
which  did  not  protect  them  from  a  sun  far  fiercer  than 
that  of  their  own  country ;  they  had  no  fresh  pro- 
visions, nothing  but  salt  pork,  salt  fish,  beans,  and 
hard  biscuit ;  and,  worst  of  all,  rum  was  fourpence  a 
quart.  Expeditions  were  planned  to  bring  sheep  and 
cattle  from  the  islands  and  coasts  of  the  bay ;  but  the 
Yankees  paddled  about  and  swept  everything  clean 
while  the  General  and  the  Admiral  were  consulting. 
No  wonder  the  morning  reports  showed  many  sick, 
and  frequent  funerals. 


302  A  Lovers  Revolt 

There  was  a  steady  loss,  too,  in  the  way  of  small 
warfare.  The  outworks  and  sentries  were  worried  by 
sharpshooters,  some  of  them  half-civilized  redskins  of 
the  Stockbridge  tribe,  who  did  sly  murder  with  rifles 
and  with  bows  and  arrows.  Retaliations  in  the  way 
of  cannonading  and  shelling  were  strangely  ineffective. 
Once,  indeed,  a  lucky  bomb  killed  two  Americans  and 
wounded  others;  but  another  day  more  than  a  hun- 
dred were  thrown  into  Roxbury  without  inflicting  a 
scratch  on  man,  beast,  or  building.  The  provincials 
became  so  hardened  to  the  firing,  that  when  a  bomb 
fell  handy,  they  would  pick  out  the  smoking  fuse  and 
carry  off  the  shot  to  enrich  their  meagre  arsenal. 

Each  side  was  too  strongly  fortified  for  the  other  to 
dare  risk  an  attack.  Thus  all  the  hot  season  passed 
away ;  the  English  chief  writing  assiduously  for  pro- 
visions and  re-enforcements;  the  American  searching 
for  powder,  drilling  his  raw  levies,  and  raising  leagues 
of  earthworks. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

NOBLE    CAPTAIN   MOORCASTLE ! 

WHEN  Huldah  came  out  of  her  brain  fever  her 
lovely  waves  of  blond  hair  were  gone,  and 
her  once  exquisite  sea-shell  complexion  was  woefully 
spotty.  The  first  time  that  she  caught  sight  of  herself 
in  a  glass  she  turned  away  in  horror  from  the  white 
cap  and  checkered  skin. 

"  Oh  dear!  "  she  gasped.  "  Shall  I  always  look  like 
that  ?     It  's  somebody  else;  it  's  a  fright." 

A  minute  later  she  began  to  cry.  "  He  won't  care 
for  me  now,"  she  sobbed.  "  Oh! — no  he  won't! — he 
can  t ! 

"  There,  there,  there,"  pattered  Sister  Ann.  "  It  '11 
all  come  back,  your  goolden  hair  will;  and  your  skin 
will  be  just  as  bewchus  as  ever.  Now  hush  up  your 
crying  whilst  I  run  for  your  gruel." 

Ann  did  not  return,  for  she  divined  that  the  girl 
wanted  to  talk  about  Moorcastle,  and  she  knew  that 
the  subject  was  a  dangerous  one.  It  was  Mrs.  Oak- 
bridge  who  brought  up  the  thin,  unsavory  refreshment. 
Huldah  devoured  it  with  the  pathetic  hunger  of  a 
convalescent,  and  almost  immediately  dropped  away 
into  a  sleep,  the  dead  sleep  of  extreme  feebleness. 

During  the  next  day  and  the  next  Ann  kept  out  of 
sight,  and  the  mother  had  sole  charge  of  the  invalid, 

303 


304  A  Lover's  Revolt 

a  gliding,  calm,  silent  mother,  who  enjoined  quiet. 
Huldah  used  to  look  at  her  with  large,  hollow  eyes 
which  expressed  a  terrible  curiosity.  At  last  she  burst 
into  a  passion  of  tears,  and  said  in  a  sobbing  whisper, 
"  I  know  he  's  dead.  If  he  was  n't  you  'd  talk  about 
im. 

"  No,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Oakbridge,  comprehend- 
ing too  well  who  was  meant.  "  He  is  not  dead.  I 
saw  him  ride  by  this  morning." 

The  hollow,  spotty  face,  so  much  more  touching 
than  pretty,  reddened  with  joy.  The  girl  was  about 
to  ask  other  questions,  but  the  mother  checked  her 
with  the  firm  announcement,  "  There  must  be  no  excit- 
ing talk,  Huldy.     The  doctor  has  straitly  forbidden  it. " 

On  the  day  following  Huldah  sought  to  wheedle  in- 
formation about  Moorcastle  from  Uncle  Fenn.  But 
the  old  gentleman  pulled  out  his  prayer-book,  and  read 
a  petition  for  all  such  as  were  in  affliction,  adding 
somewhat  concerning  "our  troubled  country."  This 
done,  he  arose  panting,  promised  Huldah  that  he 
would  bring  her  General  Gage's  last  proclamation,  and 
tottered  out  of  the  room. 

Several  days  passed  before  the  girl  got  a  fair  chance 
to  catechise  her  sister-in-law.  By  this  time  she  was 
fairly  strong;  she  could  sit  up  in  bed  with  the  aid  of 
pillows ;  her  hair  had  grown  a  little,  or  rather  she  tried 
to  think  so. 

"  I  do  hope  it  will  curl  as  it  used  to,"  she  said. 
"  He  was  always  talking  about  my  ringlets." 

"  Oh,  it  '11  be  just  like  it  was,"  affirmed  Ann. 
"  Offen  and  off  en  it  comes  out  finer  for  a  fever." 

"  I  know  he  has  been  here,"  continued  Huldah. 
"  Has  n't  he?" 


Noble  Captain  Moorcastle  !  305 

Ann  reddened,  and  looked  wildly  about  her  for  an 
excuse  to  leave  the  room. 

Has  n't  he  ?"  persisted  Huldah.     **  I  willkr\o\w. 
You  shall  \.q\\  me." 

She  looked  so  fierce  that  Ann  could  not  muster  the 
wit  to  prevaricate,  and  merely  stared  at  her  in  great 
trouble. 

"  What!  Not  once  ?  Not  once  since  I  was  sick  ?  " 
Huldah  moaned.  All  her  strength  departed  from  her; 
her  cheeks  became  hollow  and  her  lips  gray.  "  Lay 
me  down,"  she  whispered.     "  Don't  talk  to  me." 

Doctor  Lloyd  was  hurriedly  sent  for,  and  arrived 
with  the  smiling  face  of  a  wise  physician ;  but  when 
he  saw  the  invalid  his  jaw  dropped  with  a  fright  which 
he  could  not  disguise.  He  stayed  a  long  time,  labor- 
ing to  infuse  life  into  this  incarnation  of  despair;  but 
as  he  was  leaving  the  house  he  whispered  to  Mrs. 
Oakbridge,  "  It  is  a  relapse." 

Meantime  where  was  the  noble  Captain  Moorcastle, 
and  what  were  his  illustrious  thoughts,  and  feelings, 
and  purposes  ?  About  this  time  he  was  lounging  over 
a  mug  of  flip  at  the  Swan  Tavern,  the  other  persons 
present  being  his  brother  aid-de-camp,  Lieutenant 
Eastwold,  and  a  ripe,  portly,  smiling  gentleman  whom 
history  knows  as  Major  Small. 

"  'Pon  me  soul,  it  was  Old  Put,  I  'm  sure  it  was," 
the  Major  narrated.  "  Why,  I  was  within  twenty 
yards  of  the  breastwork,  and  I  saw  his  face  as  plainly 
as  I  see  that  clock.  He  threw  up  those  gun-barrels 
with  his  rapier,  and  said  he,  *  That  's  my  old  friend, 
Small.'  By  Jove,  I  never  made  another  such  grateful 
bow  in  my  life." 

"  And  looked  around  for  the  bottom  of  the  hill," 


3o6  A  Lover's  Revolt 

suggested  Moorcastle.     "  I  must  have   been  looking 
for  it  about  the  same  time." 

'*  Yes,"  laughed  the  jolly  Major.  **  It  was  not  a 
moment  for  bandying  compliments.  By  Jove,  how 
those  fellows  did  shoot !  I  wish  we  could  teach  our 
men  to  take  aim." 

"  We  knew  all  about  it  in  the  Agincourt  days," 
said  Moorcastle.  "  But  England  has  ceased  to  be  a 
hunting  country." 

'*  Well,  it  's  a  pretty  story,  that,"  observed  East- 
wold.     "  Old  Put  is  a  noble  fellow." 

**  Brave  to  madness,"  affirmed  Small.  '*  And  I  be- 
lieve he  was  the  commander  of  the  provincials.  Some 
people  say  Warren.  But  what  did  Warren  know  of 
commanding  ?  However,  that  's  no  proof  that  he 
did  n't  try  his  hand  at  it;  is  it,  gentlemen  ?" 

Moorcastle  smiled  with  his  eyes  merely,  and  the  in- 
nocent Eastwold  looked  blank.  Then  they  finished 
their  flip,  and  Small  consulted  his  gold  watch,  a  pon- 
derous affair  thick  enough  to  stop  a  bullet. 

I  believe  people  never  drink  flip  to  the  ladies," 
said  Moorcastle.  "  Shall  we  order  something  suited 
to  that  subject  ?  " 

"What  a  fellow  you  are  for  the  ladies!"  Small 
laughed.  **  By  the  way,  what  has  become  of  that 
pretty  girl  with  the  curly  yellow  hair  ?  Hey,  man, 
what  has  become  of  her  ? " 

Eastwold's  long,  sandy,  homely  face  took  on  an 
expression  of  grave  embarrassment. 

"Oh  — ah,"  repHed  Moorcastle.  "She  is  ill,  I 
understand;  very  ill." 

"  Sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  Small.     "  Sorry — sorry." 

"  Well,  you  know,  every  evil  has  some  good  in  it," 


Noble  Captain  Moorcastle  !  307 

continued  Moorcastle.     "  It  puts  an  end  to  something 
like  a  mess." 

Eastwold  reddened  violently,  and  Small  looked 
amazed. 

'*  I  mean  it  's  lucky  for  the  girl,"  Moorcastle  ex- 
plained. "  It  gets  her  out  of  a  mess — as  well  as  me. 
Demmit,  she  was  becoming  too  much  of  a  temptation. 
I  did  n't  want  to  be  raising  the  doose  with  a  colonial 
girl — situated  as  we  are  just  now." 

Small's  kindly  face  showed  a  little  disgust,  and  East- 
wold rose  from  the  table  tremulous  with  rage.  "  I 
say,  sir!"  he  stammered,  "that  's  no  way  for  a 
gentleman  to  talk  about  that  young  lady." 

Moorcastle  opened  his  black  eyes  in  wonder,  and 
slightly  revealed  his  wolfish  front  teeth.  Then  he 
suddenly  repressed  his  anger,  and  replied  in  a  low, 
tranquil  tone:  "  See  here,  Mr.  Eastwold.  Why  should 
there  be  a  misunderstanding  between  us  two  ?  If  you 
had  any  claim  to  call  me  to  account  on  behalf  of  that 
lady,  I  would  offer  you  my  apologies.  As  it  is — well, 
I  withdraw  my  words — a  mere  supposition.  If  none 
of  us  repeat  them,  there  *s  no  harm  done." 

Eastwold  was  too  much  agitated  to  reply  otherwise 
than  by  a  jerky  bow.  He  threw  down  a  coin  with  a 
shaking  hand,  and  strode  out  of  the  room  to  hide  his 
twitching  face. 

"  I  did  n't  know  he  was  fond  of  her,"  said  Moor- 
castle, turning  to  Small.  "  I  do  remember  now  that 
he  used  to  stare  at  her  a  good  deal.  What  a  devilish 
queer  thing  a  shy  man  is !  Eastwold  is  welcome  to  the 
girl  a  thousand  times  over.  And  she  '11  make  him  a 
nice  wife,  too,  if  I  can  keep  out  of  her  way.  I  am  not 
exactly  the  kind  of  man  that  a  woman  can  take  ever 


3o8  A  Lover's  Revolt 

so  many  liberties  with.  My  theory  of  life  is  to  be 
strictly  scrupulous  with  men,  and  to  treat  the  women 
as  comes  agreeable.  Still,  I  have  been  rather  consider- 
ate with  this  girl,  and  I  am  glad  she  is  off  my  hands." 

"  I  hope  she  won't  die,"  said  Small,  looking  askant 
at  Moorcastle,  as  though  he  liked  him  less  for  every 
word  he  uttered. 

"  I  '11  leave  her  to  Eastwold,"  added  the  Captain. 
"  That  ends  the  imbroglio  happily  all  round.  It  would 
be  a  good  subject  for  a  play." 

The  Major  wanted  to  say  to  him,  "  Curse  you,  sir, 
I  wish  you  knew,  sir,  what  a  cursed  hard-hearted  brute 

you  are." 

But  it  was  not  his  daughter  who  had  been  trifled 
with  and  made  miserable  for  the  young  fellow's  amuse- 
ment. He  paid  for  his  flip,  refused  rather  sulkily  to 
take  another  mug  with  Moorcastle,  and  tramped  off  to 
his  quarters  without  saying  good  evening. 

Weeks  later  (the  siege  of  Boston  languishing  on 
meanwhile  without  notable  incident)  Huldah  was  again 
on  the  road  upward  from  the  edge  of  the  grave.  This 
time,  during  all  her  earlier  convalescence,  she  did  not 
breathe  one  query  concerning  Moorcastle.  Apparently 
she  had  accepted  the  inevitable  and  resolved  to  say  no 
more  of  it.  But  it  was  also  apparent  that  she  some- 
times wondered  at  her  own  composure. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  call  me  Huldah  Oakbridge," 
she  said  to  Sister  Ann.  "  I  ought  to  have  another 
name;  I  am  somebody  else." 

At  another  time  she  asked,  "  What  can  a  girl  live 
for,  after  she  has  been  turned  into  stone  ?  " 

Ann  stared  at  her  with  such  an  expression  as  Elijah's 
simple  companion  may  have  worn  when  he  saw  the 


Noble  Captain  Moorcastle  !  309 

prophet  taking  flight  in  his  chariot  of  fire.  But  her 
sober  second  thought  was  not  favorable ;  here  was  a 
flightiness  of  speech  which  ought  to  be  checked. 

"  What  igspressions !  "  she  said,  glumly,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  administer  some  chicken  broth. 

Huldah  became  more  like  herself,  or  at  least  she  re- 
gained somewhat  of  her  cheerfulness,  as  soon  as  she 
was  able  to  sit  at  the  window.  What  a  joy  it  is  to  the 
arisen  sick  one  to  gaze  once  more  upon  the  bright 
outer  world  and  the  wholesome  life  of  it !  Boston,  the 
forlorn  little  town,  appeared  wonderfully  stirring  to 
the  feeble  girl,  and  diverted  her  by  the  hour  together. 
She  was  so  glad  to  see  the  human  race  again  that  she 
smiled  like  a  baby  in  the  faces  of  unknown  passers-by 
who  chanced  to  look  up  at  her.  Only,  the  sight  of  a 
redcoat  always  brought  a  tremor  of  anguish  into  her 
eyes;  and  once,  when  a  showy  young  officer  cantered 
past,  she  dropped  back  in  her  chair,  ghastly  white. 
Ann  Oakbridge,  who  chanced  to  be  with  her,  did  not 
need  to  peer  after  the  horseman  to  know  who  he 
was. 

Of  course  the  time  came  when  Huldah  could  look  at 
Moorcastle  and  speak  of  him.  "  There  he  goes,"  she 
said  once.  "  He  did  n't  turn  his  eyes;  he  never 
does.  He  behaves  as  though  he  had  murdered  some- 
body in  this  house." 

It  was  of  course  Sister  Ann  who  was  with  her ;  the 
girl  would  not  have  been  so  frank  with  her  mother. 

"  He  was  in  the  battle,"  she  resumed  presently. 
"  Did  he  get  hurt  ?" 

"  Have  you  lost  your  mem'ry  ? "  said  Ann.  **  You 
know  he  did  n't  get  hurt." 

"  Oh,  I  remember  well  enough.     I  remember  just 


3IO  A  Lover's  Revolt 

how  he  looked  when  he  rode  by.     Was  n't  I  glad  to 
see  him  alive  and  sound!  " 

"  You  must  n't  jabber  so  much,"  snapped  Ann, 
meaning  that  she  must  not  talk  of  Moorcastle. 

But  the  next  day  Huldah  abruptly  resumed  the  sub- 
ject. **  It  is  all  over,"  she  said.  "  I  never  shall  be  a 
countess.  What  a  dream  it  was!  what  a  silly,  crazy 
dream !  It  would  have  been  pleasant  to  die  dreaming 
it." 

"  He  's  hateful,"  cried  the  downright  British  woman, 
her  heart  swelling  with  rage  over  the  vanishing  of  the 
coroneted  vision.  "  I  puffeckly  hate  such  conduck  as 
hisn.  I  'd  just  like  to  see  somebody  give  him  a  wack 
on  the  jor." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  so !  I  know  you  love  me.  But  you 
must  n't  hate  him;  I  can't  bear  it.  Why,  you  seem 
to  feel  it  worse  than  I  do.  But  we  were  both  silly. 
How  could  I  expect — a  poor  little  Boston  girl — nothing 
but  a  provincial! — I  ought  not  to  have  thought  of  his 
caring  for  me.  Why,  Ann,  are  you  crying  ?  crying  for 
me  ?     Come  here.     I  want  to  kiss  you." 

They  kissed  each  other  and  cried  together  for  a 
minute  before  Ann  recollected  that  Huldah  was  a  con- 
valescent. 

"  There,"  she  whispered,  pulling  away.  "  You 
must  n't.  I  must  n't  let  you.  You  will  have  another 
relapse." 

"  Oh,  it  does  n't  matter,"  Huldah  sighed.  "  Except 
to  mother  and  father.  How  good  mother  has  been ! 
And  I  have  been  so  spiteful  and  disobedient!  My 
days  won't  be  long  in  the  land.  I  wish  you  'd  bring 
me  my  looking-glass,  Ann.  No!  I  don't  want  it, 
either ;  not  now.     Wait  till  I  get  over  this  crying.     I 


Noble  Captain  Moorcastle  !  311 

look  so  spotty  when  I  've  been  crying."  A  minute 
later  she  sighed  once  more,  "  No,  my  days  won't  be 
long  in  the  land." 

Yet  she  lived  on  just  as  if  she  had  been  always  duti- 
ful ;  and  she  steadily  regained  her  health  and  her  girlish 
prettiness.  The  corn-colored  ringlets  came  back,  per- 
haps a  little  darker  than  before,  but  abundant  and 
bewitching.  The  sparkles  returned  to  the  violet  eyes, 
and  the  carnelian  to  cheeks  and  mouth.  But  the  soul 
was  not  as  aforetime ;  she  continued  to  dwell  upon  her 
disappointment ;  nor  did  she  ever  speak  of  it  with  her 
native  spirit  of  self-assertion;  she  had  been  crushed 
beyond  vindictiveness  or  even  complaint. 

"Oh!"  Ann  once  protested,  in  a  kind  of  bawl, 
"  how  ever  can  you  stick  to  that  heejus  man  so  ?  I 
wish  to  the  Lud  I  'd  never  got  him  to  this  house." 

"  Ah,"  returned  Huldah  dreamily,  "  I  'm  s-o  glad 
you  did !  " 

It  was  difficult  to  forgive  such  forgivingness.  The 
manly  daughter  of  Highgate,  obviously  capable  of 
hitting  out  with  her  fist  in  revenge  for  a  harm,  looked 
as  vexed  as  she  could  look  with  the  creature  whom  she 
loved  best  in  the  world. 

"  Lud!  "  she  sputtered.  "  I  knew  women  could  be 
fools.  But  you  are  just  the  head  jobbernowl  of  'em 
all." 

"  Wait  till  you  are  in  love,"  said  Huldah,  smiling 
faintly. 

Mrs.  Oakbridge,  junior,  winced  with  a  promptitude 
which  did  credit  to  her  intellect.  "  Now  I  "  she  pro- 
tested. "  What  did  you  say  that  for  ?  I  am  fond  of 
John.  But  all  the  same,  if  he  should  treat  me  as 
though  I  had  no  feelinks,  I  'd  hate  him  for  it." 


312  A  Lovers  Revolt 

"  You  don't  know,"  said  Huldah,  who  had  grown 
sadly  wise.  "  I  used  to  brag  that  way.  What  has  it 
come  to  ?  Now,  if  he  should  tell  me  to  clean  his 
boots,  I  suppose  I  should  do  it." 

"  I  wish  he  had  to  clean  yourn,"  sobbed  Ann,  her 
pale-blue  eyes  swimming  with  tears  of  wrathful  affec- 
tion. "  He  ain't  fit  to  be  your  meanest  suvvant — not 
your  very  errint-boy,  he  ain't.  If  the  man  only  knew 
what  he  's  throwed  away,  he  'd  suffer — if  he  's  got 
the  vitals  to  suffer— 'ard-'earted  beast!  Well,  there  's 
one  comfort;  he  '11  get  no  such  other  girl  as  you, 
never;  not  in  all  old  England,  he  won't,  though  I  'm 
a  Lunnuner  as  says  it.  I  don't  believe  no  English  girl, 
whether  of  high  buth  or  low  buth,  would  put  up  with 
his  nawsty,  musnary  conduck  as  'eavenly  mindedly  as 
you  do." 

It  must  be  charitably  remembered  that  Sister  Ann 
spoke  in  wrath,  and  also  that  she  judged  her  country- 
women from  the  Highgate  point  of  view. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

HULDAH   AMONG  GRANDEES 

TIME  and  the  fresh  breezes  of  autumn  restored 
Huldah  to  vigorous  health. 

By  now  her  father  had  returned  from  his  voyage  to 
the  old  country,  escaping  the  Continental  cruisers  and 
Yankee  privateers  which  already  infested  the  seas, 
and  unlading  at  Hancock's  Wharf  valuable  cargoes  of 
provisions. 

The  venture  brought  him  money, — a  great  deal  of 
money  for  those  days  of  impoverishment, — so  that  he 
suddenly  became  one  of  the  solid  men  of  Boston. 
Moreover,  it  brought  him  favor  at  governmental  head- 
quarters, and  even  with  the  bitter  Tory  element  of 
civilian  society.  The  result  was  that  the  Oakbridges 
were  erelong  on  visiting  terms  with  the  Hutchinsons, 
the  Olivers,  the  Lorings,  and  the  Ruggleses,  and  even 
with  the  resident  English  notables  and  honorables. 

This  is  how  it  happened  that,  some  time  in  early 
October,  Huldah  and  Sister  Ann  attended  a  reception 
at  the  Province  House.  General  Gage  was  already 
under  orders  to  go  to  England  and  favor  His  Majesty 
with  counsels  concerning  American  affairs.  But  no- 
body understood  that  he  was  to  be  superseded  and 
would  nevermore  rule  in  Boston ;  he  was  still  Excel- 
lency, Governor  of  Massachusetts,  and  Commander-in- 

313 


314  A  Lover's  Revolt 

Chief  of  the  British  forces  in  North  America.  It  was 
a  dizzying  honor  to  rustle  into  his  farewell  reception, 
and  our  two  young  adventurers  in  the  ways  of  fashion 
so  understood  it,  deporting  themselves  with  that  pal- 
pitating composure  which  distinguishes  their  sex. 

One  of  the  first  persons  whom  Huldah  encountered 
was  Moorcastle.  It  must  have  been  a  trying  moment, 
not  only  for  the  resurrected  girl,  but  also  for  the 
assassin  of  her  peace.  They  had  been  veiy  intimate, 
not  to  say  loving;  and  now  they  were  separated  by 
something  like  a  grave.  What  can  a  murderer,  who 
calls  himself  a  perfect  gentleman,  say  to  the  uncom- 
plaining ghost  of  his  victim  ?  What  can  a  meek, 
forgiving,  sorrowing  ghost  say  to  its  murderer  ? 

There  was  a  mechanical  interchange  of  greetings  be- 
tween two  bodies  whose  souls  would  have  been  glad  to 
be  leagues  asunder.  Moorcastle,  redder  in  the  face 
than  he  was  proud  to  be,  swung  his  laced  hat  behind 
his  right  thigh,  and  obsequiously  bent  his  bagged  and 
powdered  head,  almost  wishing  that  the  girl  would  cuff 
it.  Huldah,  as  white  as  the  shrouded  dead,  drooped 
her  lovely  eyes  as  though  looking  her  last  on  earth, 
and  courtesied  till  she  thought  she  should  never  rise 
again.  Then,  without  a  word  spoken,  they  got  past 
each  other  somehow,  and  were  glad  of  the  deliverance. 

"  By  Jove,  Moork!  "  muttered  Captain  Tollemache. 
**  I  don't  see  how  you  could  have  let  that  girl  go." 

"  Demmit,  it  's  too  late  now,"  said  Moorcastle, 
anxious  to  get  rid  of  the  subject.  "  Eastwold  is  there 
all  the  while,  and  he  means  tine  affaire  serieusey 

"  Oh,  he  does,  eh  ?  Well,  I  '11  wait  till  she  's  married, 
and  then  I  '11  try  my  luck." 

Moorcastle  turned  upon  Tollemache  with  a  tragic 


Huldah  Among  Grandees  315 

start  and  a  savage  expression.  He  was  in  such  a  state 
of  mind  about  Huldah  that,  while  he  was  quite  dis- 
posed to  trifle  with  her  himself,  it  made  him  angry  to 
hear  another  fellow  merely  talk  of  so  doing.  He 
wanted  to  tell  Tollemache  to  go  to  perdition;  but, 
realizing  in  a  moment  how  childish  his  wrath  was,  he 
sauntered  away  without  speaking;  though  he  revenged 
himself  later  in  the  evening  by  being  uncommonly  gal- 
lant with  Mrs.  Tollemache. 

Meantime  Sister  Ann  was  aiding  Huldah  to  recover 
her  self-possession. 

"  Your  gownd  is  all  out  of  plait  behind,"  she  whis- 
pered, knowing  that  such  like  information  would  re- 
store the  girl's  reason,  if  anything  could. 

So  they  withdrew  to  a  dressing-room ;  there  was  a 
pretence  of  putting  the  skirt  to  rights,  and  Huldah 
drank  a  glass  of  water;  then  she  was  once  more  ready 
to  face  man  or  woman.  It  was  an  effort  of  heroism 
not  so  very  far  below  the  rallies  of  the  British  infantry 
on  the  bloody  slope  of  Breed's  Hill. 

In  five  minutes  after  the  meeting  with  Moorcastle 
Huldah  was  smiling  and  prattling  as  cantily  as  any 
other  woman  present.  Major  Small,  who  had  witnessed 
and  comprehended  that  meeting,  likened  her  in  his 
mind  to  a  soldier  who  has  received  his  bullet,  but 
fights  on  without  flinching.  He  got  Eastwold  to 
present  him  to  her,  and  did  his  middle-aged  best  to  be 
agreeable.  When  he  left  her,  he  elbowed  his  way  up 
to  Gage,  and  mumbled  in  his  Excellency's  red,  hairy 
ears  a  few  words  which  were  responded  to  by  three  or 
four  nods  and  a  smile.  The  result  was  that  in  due 
time  Huldah  danced  a  minuet  with  the  high-born  com- 
mander-in-chief.     Then   Major  Small   took  her   out, 


3i6 


A  Lovers  Revolt 


and   then   other  notable   gentlemen,   until   it    became 
obvious  to  everybody  that  she  was  one  of  the  belles  of 

the  ball. 

Sister  Ann  gazed  at  these  unexpected  triumphs  with 
such  a  fixed  smirk  of  honest  satisfaction  that  it  seemed 
as  if  she  would  go  on  smiling  eternally  like  Boodha. 
Nothing  marred  her  content  but  the  fact  that  Captain 
Moorcastle  looked  on  with  high-bred  and  hard-hearted 
unconcern.  She  would  have  rejoiced  to  empty  a 
tumbler  of  rum  punch  on  his  powdered  head  and  gilt- 
laced  uniform.  Meantime  she  talked  and  laughed, 
and  eventually  danced,  with  Eastwold,  doing  all  three 
more  vigorously  than  he  liked.  The  lovelorn  Lieuten- 
ant had  to  swallow  a  vast  deal  of  Ann  that  evening  to 
get  a  tiny  bit  of  Huldah.  But  how  grateful  he  was 
to  His  Excellency  for  taking  the  girl  out,  and  to. that 
fatherly  old  Small  for  being  so  thoughtful  of  her !  Not 
often  in  his  shy  life  had  the  soft-hearted  youth  passed 
so  gladsome  an  evening. 

Of  course  Huldah  did  not  entirely  escape  the  shafts 
of  jealousy.  Miss  Oliver,  a  heavy  young  woman,  with 
sandy  eyebrows  and  a  bulbous  Roman  nose,  gave  her 
one  of  those  icy  stares  which  still  haunt  Beacon  Hill. 
Miss  Brown,  a  short  brunette,  with  a  large  cranium 
and  glittering  eyes,  simpered  to  her,  "  I  have  heard  so 
much  about  you  from  my  friend.  Captain  Moorcastle!  " 

Even  Mrs.  Yerksum,  a  life-long  crony  of  Uncle 
Fenn,  could  not  help  saying,  "  I  wonder  your  father 
is  n't  here ;  but  I  suppose  he  could  n't  leave  the  store  ." 

In  short,  Huldah  bumped  up  against  several  cases 
of  human  nature  during  the  evening,  just  as  though 
she  were  at  a  modern  party. 

But  she  heard  one  kind  of  talk  which  is  now  some- 


Huldah  Among  Grandees  317 

what  out  of  date,  though  there  is  still  a  sufficiency  of 
it.  Everybody  present,  at  least  all  those  in  citizen 
raiment,  spoke  bitterly  and  scornfully  of  America  and 
Americans,  excepting  of  course  their  flunkeyish  selves. 
A  handsome  married  lady  (obviously  a  great  favorite 
with  a  certain  British  general)  sat  down  to  the  harpsi- 
chord and  sang  a  ditty  which  she  said  had  been  com- 
posed by  a  "  gentleman  of  the  garrison." 

"  Father  'n'  I  went  down  to  camp 
Along  with  Captain  Goodin  ; 
An'  there  we  saw  the  men  'n'  boys 
As  thick  as  hasty  puddin'. 

"  There  was  Captain  Washington 
Upon  a  slapping  stallion, 
A  giving  orders  to  his  men, — 
1  guess  there  was  a  million." 

And  the  rest  of  it:  they  made  her  scream  the  whole 
fifteen  verses ;  a  song  written  expressly  to  heap  scorn 
upon  Americans;  they  encored  it,  and  they  laughed 
till  they  cried.  General  Howe  himself  (demi-semi- 
Guelph  as  he  was)  did  not  applaud  so  fervently  as  the 
loyal  native  sons  and  daughters  of  Boston.  Yankee 
Huldah  Oakbridge  giggled  herself  redder  in  the  face 
than  Britannic  Sister  Ann.  A  dozen  other  heiresses 
(they  are  living  yet,  my  readers)  paid  their  court  to 
Anglican  epaulets  and  coronets  with  similar  mirth. 
There  was  not  one  of  these  sycophants,  male,  or  female, 
or  clerical,  who  did  not  hope  that  the  Englishry  present 
saw  how  deeply  he,  or  she,  or  it  was  gratified,  and  how 
fervently  he,  or  she,  or  it  flouted  at  George  Washing- 
ton, and  his  army,  and  the  whole  breed  from  which 


3i8  A  Lovers  Revolt 

they  sprang.  If  Ash  Farnlee  could  have  been  there, 
he  would  have  felt  a  longing  to  throttle  the  entire 
company,  beginning  with  the  native  windpipes. 

The  conversation  became  all  the  more  Torified  for 
the  singing.  Over  and  over  Huldah  heard  such  phrases 
as,  "  loyalty  to  the  best  of  kings";  "  hang  Pitt  and 
Sam  Adams  together";  **  we  want  as  many  hangmen 
as  soldiers  ";  "  long  live  George  the  Third!  " 

There  was  much  talk  of  Arnold's  expedition  against 
Canada,  which  had  left  Cambridge  some  three  weeks 
before,  and  had  already  vanished  into  the  wilds  of 
Maine. 

"  They  never  can  reach  Quebec  by  way  of  the  Ken- 
nebec," affirmed  Mr.  Brown,  a  swarthy,  stout  man  with 
baggy  eyes.  "  It  's  the  horriblest  wilderness  in  North 
America.  Hannibal  would  not  be  able  to  traverse  it. 
And  this  Arnold — whom  I  know  well  in  his  business 
relations — is  just  the  fellow  to  sell  out  his  command,  if 
General  Carleton  will  buy  of  him." 

But  the  most  fervent  dialogue  referred  to  the  coming 
departure  of  Gage  for  England.  How  could  Boston 
spare  him,  even  for  a  few  weeks!  What  a  splendid 
proclamation  he  had  just  issued  to  those  crazy  rebels! 
Judge  Oliver  and  young  Mr.  Hutchinson  vied  with 
each  other  in  repeating  some  of  its  phrases  loud  enough 
for  His  Excellency  to  hear.  "  Infatuated  multitude; 
— deceived  and  betrayed  by  ambitious  men; — taking 
arms  upon  grievances  which  existed  only  in  the  imagin- 
ation ; — fighting  against  the  most  liberal  and  lenient 
of  governments." 

Thus  went  the  duet,  and  as  little  Judge  Oliver  had 
a  shrill,  parrot-like  pipe,  and  Hutchinson  had  a  mo- 
notonous, grinding  voice  like  the  utterance  of  a  coffee- 


Huldah  Among  Grandees  319 

mill,  the  responses  produced  a  very  humorous  effect, 
though  nobody  dared  to  smile. 

When  this  service  of  praise  ended,  Huldah  distin- 
guished the  mellow  baritone  of  a  tall,  handsome  man, 
the  husband  of  the  beauty  who  had  sung  Yankee 
Doodle.  He,  too,  was  eulogizing  the  departing  Gen- 
eral: **  Such  prudence,  benevolence,  and  candor  in 
civil  affairs!  Such  steadiness,  vigilance,  and  humanity 
in  his  military  career!  Everything  he  says  and  does 
fills  me  with  veneration." 

Of  course  you  admire  his  late  appointment," 
sneered  a  lean,  slovenly  gentleman,  whose  wiry,  red 
hair  showed  through  insufficient  powder  and  pomatum, 
like  a  single  gold  piece  through  the  meshes  of  a  ragged 
purse. 

"What  one?"  demanded  the  tall  man,  with  a 
frown. 

The  one  making  you  sole  auctioneer  and  vendue- 
master  for  the  city  of  Boston.  A  pretty  profitable 
office,  considering  the  number  of  houses  on  sale  for 
unpaid  taxes.     I  congratulate  you." 

The  red-head  sought  to  smile  with  bland  irony,  but 
the  smile  turned  into  a  grin  of  mental  anguish,  and 
he  hasted  away  to  hide  a  piteous  spasm  of  the  mouth. 

"  That 's  a  malignant,"  baritoned  the  tall  gentleman. 
"  Mark  my  words,  that  man  will  turn  out  a  rebel." 

**  Oh  Lud,  no!  "  piped  Judge  Oliver.  "  He  applied 
for  the  place  himself.  Get  the  poor  fellow  some  little 
post,  my  dear  sir.  You  can  make  him  your  friend  and 
a  most  devoted  loyal  subject." 

"  I  have  not  so  much  influence  as  you  suppose," 
grunted  the  tall  gentleman,  and  stalked  off  with  an  air 
of  offence. 


^20  A  Lover's  Revolt 

The  bystanders  exchanged  smiles,  glanced  sidelong 
at  the  corner  where  the  musical  lady  was  chatting  with 
a  certain   British  general,   and  then  pulled  discreetly 

grave  faces. 

Meantime  puffy  Mrs.  Oliver  was  discoursing  gra- 
ciously to  Huldah  Oakbridge.  "  I  am  so  rejoiced,"  she 
wheezed,  "  that  your  father  got  in  safe  with  his 
brigantines.  What  a  mercy  of  Heaven  to  bring  him 
through  the  toils  of  those  pirates  outside!  It  looks 
like  a  direct  answer  to  the  prayers  of  our  loyal  clergy. 
And  we  were  in  great  straits,  surely.  Salt  beef  fifteen 
pence  a  pound!  It  takes  one's  breath  away  to  think 
of  it.  No  doubt  your  father  made  a  handsome  penny 
by  his  voyage.  But  the  Judge  says  he  deserves  it ;  he 
says  your  father  put  his  whole  fortune  at  risk,  and 
righteously  earned  his  profit;  the  Judge  is  always  say- 
ing some  reasonable  thing  like  that,  when  most  people 
are  so  inconsiderate  and  uncharitable.  So  I  look  upon 
your  father  as  a  most  worthy  man  who  has  been  a 
friend  in  need  to  us  all.  Do  make  my  respects  to  him, 
and  tell  him  Boston  thanks  him." 

By  Boston,  she  of  course  meant  the  Tory  aristo- 
cracy, such  as  the  Hutchinsons,  Olivers,  Browns,  etc. 
Huldah  perceived  that  she  was  being  talked  to  by  the 
old  grandee  as  an  outsider  to  this  sacred  circle.  But 
she  did  not  take  it  ill ;  she  was  conscious,  like  every- 
body else  in  those  days,  of  the  superiority  of  gentry 
to  plain  people ;  and  she  was  pleased  to  be  spoken  to 
by  gentry  in  almost  any  fashion.  She  was  trying  to 
invent  some  response  more  substantial  than  simpering, 
when  Mrs.  Oliver  recommenced  her  bland  twaddle, 
pouring  forth  the  phrases  in  a  continuous  smooth  cur- 
rent, like  a  cask  of  oil  with  the  spigot  out.      If  ever 


Huldah  Among  Grandees  321 

she  lacked  a  word,  or  an  idea,  she  uttered  a  soft  giggle 
by  way  of  a  conjunction. 

But  what  a  state  we  are  in,  my  child ! "  she  mono- 
toned. "Starvation  within  and  enemies  without! 
Pirates  by  sea  and  savages  by  land !  Are  we  never  to 
be  ridded  of  that  Mr.  Washington  and  his  impudent, 
bloodthirsty  gang  ?  I  am  so  surprised  every  morning 
to  find  that  the  General  has  not  marched  out  upon 
them  and  dispersed  them  with  the  bayonet.  Surely 
the  king's  troops  ought  to  dispose  very  easily  of  such 
a  miserable,  disorderly  rabble.  The  Judge  says  it  is 
a  difficult  matter  to  capture  entrenchments.  But 
surely  we  took  those  on  Charlestown  Neck.  Why 
don't  you  urge  some  of  these  valiant  gentlemen  to 
make  a  sally  ?  You  seem  to  be  on  flattering  terms 
with  them,  from  His  Excellency  down.  You  could 
use  your  charms,  you  know.  Now  I  have  n't  any  left 
to  use.  But  a  fresh,  rosy  lass  like  you  could  surely  in- 
spirit some  of  these  noble  warriors  to  battle.  And 
here  comes  one;  I  '11  call  him  up  to  you.  Captain 
Moorcastle !  " 

But  Moorcastle,  pretending  not  to  hear,  slipped 
adroitly  past ;  and  Huldah,  throwing  a  ghastly  smile  at 
Mrs.  Oliver,  courtesied  and  tottered  away.  She  had 
a  dreadful  feeling  that,  if  she  should  meet  her  false 
lover  face  to  face,  she  would  fling  herself  into  his  arms 
and  faint  there.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  her  to  discover 
Eastwold,  and  to  find  that  he  was  ready  and  willing  to 
escort  her  home. 

The  lovelorn  lieutenant  had  plenty  of  opportunity 
to  pay  court  to  Huldah.  Moorcastle  did  not  go  to 
England  with  General  Gage,  but  neither  did  he  ever 
go  to   the    Oakbridge  house.     And   for  month  after 


^22  A  Lover's  Revolt 

month  the  girl  remained  caged  in  Boston  by  a  siege 
which  had  fallen  as  torpid  as  the  siege  of  Troy  before 
Achilles  quarrelled  with  Agamemnon. 

Howe  succeeded  Gage,  but  it  was  his  only  success. 
Apparently  he  had  resolved  never  to  go  near  a  Yankee 
earthwork  again  so  long  as  he  had  mind  and  memory 
enough  to  say  Bunker  Hill.  He  would  not  even  seize 
upon  Dorchester  Heights,  though  he  knew  that  if  the 
Yankees  should  occupy  them,  he  would  have  to  leave 
Boston.  From  October  lo,  1775,  on  to  May  17,  1776, 
his  only  military  operation  was  the  sending  of  a  bat- 
talion to  Lechmere's  Point,  with  the  result  of  losing 
three  prisoners  and  capturing  ten  cows. 

Meantime  Washington,  with  nine  rounds  of  car- 
tridges per  man  and  almost  without  cannon,  persever- 
ingly  circumvallated  Howe,  marking  out  and  completing 
a  crescent  front  eight  miles  long,  which  showed  some 
twenty  miles  of  parapet.  Julius  Caesar,  or  any  of  the 
Grand  Turks,  or  Alexander  of  Parma,  would  have  sur- 
veyed it  with  astonishment  and  approbation.  Sir 
William  meanwhile  behaved  like  a  man  whose  wits 
had  been  palsied.  When  the  rebels  threw  up  a  new 
work,  he  made  an  official  report  of  it  to  the  War  Office, 
and  issued  orders  for  his  soldiers  to  clean  their  gaiters 
and  re-trim  their  hats. 

But  Washington's  greatest  feat  before  Boston  was 
the  complete  reconstruction  of  his  army.  The  time  of 
the  Connecticut  and  Rhode  Island  militia  expired  De- 
cember 1st,  and  that  of  the  Massachusetts  militia  a 
month  later.  There  was  danger  that,  on  the  ist  of 
January,  1776,  the  twenty  miles  of  parapet  would  be 
without  defenders.  The  warlike  zeal  of  New  England 
saved  the  provincial  cause ;  at  no  time  did  the  army 


Huldah  Among  Grandees  323 

fall  below  ten  thousand  six  hundred  men  for  duty  ;  and 
by  March  it  had  risen  to  nearly  sixteen  thousand,  be- 
sides twenty-eight  hundred  sick. 

But  what  a  labor  for  the  commander-in-chief  to  keep 
a  working  amount  of  organization  and  soldierly  vitality 
in    this    ebbing   and    flowing    swarm    of    greenhorns! 

Nothing  like  it,"  he  said  and  wrote,  "  was  ever  be- 
fore required  of  a  general,  namely  to  hold  a  post, 
without  powder,  for  six  months  against  a  strong  enemy, 
and  meanwhile  to  disband  one  army  and  raise  another." 
If  we  were  only  worthy  to  serve  under  him!" 
sighed  Ash  Farnlee.  And  thereupon  the  fervent 
youth  applied  to  Adjutant-General  Horatio  Gates  for 
leave  to  undertake  a  desperate  job  of  secret  service. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

LOVELY   MRS.    LORELEIGH 

THE  departure  of   General  Gage  (which  he,  poor 
hero,  thought  such  an  important  event)  did  not 
affect  even  the  existence  of  little  Huldah  Oakbridge. 

Moorcastle  and  Eastwold  both  remained  on  the  staff 
of  the  new  Excellency ;  so  that  she  had  a  false  lover 
and  a  true  lover  always  handy ;  and  what  more  can  a 
girl  want  ?  Yet  she  was  not  happy.  The  devotion  of 
the  true  lover  could  not  make  amends  for  the  treason 
of  the  false  lover.  She  was  constantly  saying,  during 
this  joyless,  fashionable  winter,  "  If  I  ever  marry." 

"  In  course  you  '11  marry,"  snapped  Sister  Ann. 
"  A  girl  just  beginning  to  get  into  saciety  and  have 
chances!  The  idear  of  making  a  frumpsy  old  maid  of 
yourself!  " 

"  Well,  just  to  please  you,  I  '11  have  Mr.  Eastwold. 
He  's  real  good,  and  gentlemanly,  and  devoted;  and 
he  would  be  almost  handsome,  if  he  only  had  a  chin." 

"  Oh,  wait !  Now  don't  you  skip  off  in  a  silly  hurry 
with  Eastwold.  He  's  just  nothing  but  a  good-'earted 
young  Englishman;  there  's  thousan's  an'  thousan's 
more  igsackly  like  him.  He  don't  belong  to  the  peer- 
itch,  and  never  will." 

Nor    I    never  will,    either.     I   wish    I   had   never 
thought  of  it.     I  'd  better  have  stuck  to  Ash  Farnlee. " 

324 


Lovely  Mrs.   Loreleigh  325 

"No!  Don't  you  go  to  think  of  it.  Take  Eastwold 
sooner;  anyhow,  he  's  from  the  old  country,  and  he  's 
a  British  officer;  and  that  's  ever  so  much  above  a 
provincial,  no  matter  who  he  be." 

I  shan't  love  him.      I  shan't  be  happy  with  him. 
I  shall  never  care  for  anybody  but  Captain  Moorcastle.  ■ 
I  don't  care  tuppence  for  these  other  men  who  are 
about  me." 

Don't  I  see  it  ?  You  are  just  a-using  of  'em  to 
get  him  back.  But  you  ain't  always  judicious.  You 
go  with  everybody,  or  anybody,  a  little  too  free-like. 
You  refuse  Mr.  Eastwold,  and  then  you  'ave  'im  'ere 
igsackly  the  same,  and  go  to  parties  and  theatre  with 
'im.  And  you  run  with  Captain  Tollemache,  too, 
who  's  a  married  man,  with  children,  and  the  wust- 
spoken-of  gen'leman  in  the  garrison.  Of  course  it  's 
all  to  make  Moorksle  jealous.  But  suppose  it  simply 
makes  him  scawnful  ?  " 

"  There  's  one  thing  I  know  hurts  me.  I  ain't  in 
the  right  church  to  please  officers.  Mrs.  Yerksum  and 
Mrs.  Oliver  have  both  said  to  me  as  how  I  ought  to 
join  the  Church  of  England  if  I  wanted  to  bag  the 
epaulets." 

"  Of  course  that  's  their  church — by  act  of  Parlia- 
ment. Well  now,  what  shall  I  say  ?  Of  course  your 
parents  would  feel  awfully;  they  'd  consider  it  nex' 
thing  to  turning  papisher.  But  Uncle  Fenn  '11  stan' 
by  you  with  all  the  scripter  he  's  got  in  his  jor,  poor 
old  pusson.  Would  n't  he  like  the  job  of  marrying 
you,  in  the  Church  of  England  service,  to  a  British 
officer!     Ho!  would  n't  he!  " 

But  if  Huldah  was  to  attend  the  garrison  church,  she 
must  first  learn  how  to  make  her  responses,  and  so 


326  A  Lover's  Revolt 

she  begged  her  uncle  to  lend  her  his  prayer-book.  The 
delighted  ecclesiastic  favored  her  with  a  spare  one 
which  had  been  presented  to  him  years  before  by  a 
widowed  parishioner  who  wished  to  comfort  him  for 
the  loss  of  his  wife,  and  failed.  Huldah  studied  it  in 
secret,  meanwhile  hiding  it  in  safe  places,  as  she  would 
have  hidden  a  novel  by  Smollet  or  Fielding,  supposing 
she  could  have  got  such  a  horror.  But  at  last  it  was 
discovered,  and  then  came  a  quarrel  in  the  puritan 
dwelling. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  Episcopal  Church,"  explained 
and  declared  Huldah,  in  wild  agitation  and  anguish  of 
spirit. 

"  You  are  going  to  church  with  your  father  and 
mother,"  calmly  returned  Mrs.  Oakbridge.  "At  least, 
you  will  do  so  until  you  are  married,  or  of  age." 

Huldah  was  pitiable,  although  she  deserved  slapping. 
She  had  never  before  rebelled  openly  against  her 
parents,  and  the  struggle  was  torture  to  her.  Her 
mouth  twisted  and  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears  as  she 
cried  out  in  a  breaking  voice,  **  Do  you  want  to  plague 
me  to  death!  " 

Huldah!  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Oakbridge  in  sorrowful 
amazement. 

But  Huldah  gasped  back,  **  You  want  to  kill  me!  " 
and  fled  upstairs  to  her  room. 

Her  father,  who  had  sat  thus  far  in  speechless  stupe- 
faction, now  arose,  looked  up  his  rawhide  riding-whip, 
and  strode  after  his  wayward  child. 

"Jehiel!"  cried  his  wife.  "You  are  surely  not 
going  to  whip  her!     She  is  nineteen  years  old." 

She   ain't    too    old   to   be   sassy   to   her   mother. 
She  '11  either  take  a  hiding,  or  she  '11  ask  your  pardon." 


Lovely  Mrs.    Loreleigh  327 

The  leathery  castigation  was  spared  to  Huldah. 
When  she  saw  her  father  enter  her  chamber  with  his 
cowskin,  she  was  very  glad  to  descend  promptly  to  the 
sitting-room  and  say  what  was  ordered.  But  had  she 
been  one  year  younger,  she  would  surely  have  got  a 
tanning.  If  there  was  no  sufficient  discipline  in  the 
American  army,  there  was  still  a  wholesome  allowance 
of  it  in  the  American  family,  and  not  for  younkers 
only,  but  for  their  sisters  as  well.  No  wonder  our 
great-grandmothers  married  early,  and  made  good 
wives,  if  it  were  merely  to  get  out  of  range  of  the 
paternal  flagellations. 

Huldah  took  no  further  steps  towards  changing  her 
place  of  devotion,  and  made  no  public  complaint  of 
her  narrow  escape  from  physical  correction.  But  the 
story  of  the  cowskin  scene  became  widely  known  in 
some  manner.  Did  Uncle  Fenn  partially  overhear  it, 
and  get  an  inaccurate  comprehension  of  it,  and  impart 
his  misunderstanding  to  others  ?  It  is  certain  that  his 
good  friend,  Mrs.  Yerksum,  a  devoted  and  even  heated 
churchwoman,  spread  abroad  an  extravagant  version  of 
the  affair,  giving  it  a  color  of  persecution  for  religion's 
sake. 

Among  Mrs.  Yerksum's  entertained  listeners  was 
Mrs.  Latimer  Loreleigh,  the  handsomest  married  lady 
in  Boston  and  the  belle  of  its  Tory  society. 

He  was  going  to  cowhide  her?"  giggled  Mrs. 
Loreleigh,  who  had  noticed  Huldah's  advent  into  her 
stylish  circle,  and  thought  she  had  no  business  there. 
"  Well,  why  did  n't  he  ?  What  hindered  ?  Tell  me 
the  rest  of  it." 

"Dear  Mistress  Loreleigh!  how  can  you  laugh! 
Such  a  dreadful  piece  of  persecution !  when  the  poor 


328  A  Lover's  Revolt 

dear  child  merely  wanted  to  join  our  church  and  have 
done  with  that  wretched  rebel  meeting-house!  I  am 
so  glad  it  has  been  turned  into  a  riding-school  for  the 
cavalry !  " 

"  It  must  be  she  is  after  an  English  officer,"  mused 
Mrs.  Loreleigh,  who  perhaps  knew  her  own  sex,  or 
the  lighter  part  of  it.  "  Is  n't  she  running  with  Mr. 
Eastwold  a  good  deal  ?  " 

"  But  some  people  say  one  thing,  and  some  another; 
now  it  *s  Mr.  Eastwold,  and  now  it  is  n't ; — just  like  the 
pea  under  the  thimble." 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  it  means,"  resumed  Mrs.  Lore- 
leigh, bursting  into  another  giggle.  "  She  used  to 
frolic  with  my  naughty  pet.  Captain  Moorcastle ;  and 
something  or  other  happened,  I  never  knew  what. 
You  may  depend  she  has  set  out  to  get  him  back." 

Mrs.  Yerksum  reddened  with  a  struggle  between 
squeamishness  and  a  desire  to  narrate  a  bit  of  gossip. 
"  Yes,"  she  hesitated;  "  there  was  something  betwixt 
her  and  the  Captain  " ;  and  before  she  knew  what  was 
happening,  she  had  told  Huldah's  love  story. 

"  Yes,  that 's  it,"  Mrs.  Loreleigh  continued  to  giggle. 

He  threw  her  overboard;  he  tired  of  her  and  turned 
her  over  to  Eastwold ;  and  now  she  is  figuring  to  hook 
him  again.  Why,  don't  you  see  it  yourself,  Mrs. 
Yerksum  ?  I  know  you  do;  you  need  n't  pull  that 
long  face;  you  can  hardly  keep  from  laughing  out- 
right.    What  a  superior  joke  on  Captain  Moorcastle !  " 

"  But  you  won't  mention  it,  dear  Mrs.  Loreleigh  ? 
One  really  ought  to  try  to  give  the  girl  credit  for  high 
and  serious  motives.  Please  don't  speak  of  it  to  the 
young  gentlemen  of  the  garrison.  They  are  so  merci- 
less upon  our  colonial  girls !  " 


Lovely  Mrs.   Loreleigh  329 

**  What  do  you  take  me  for  ?  Do  you  suppose  I  am 
intimate  with  all  the  ensigns  in  Boston  ?  " 

A  day  or  two  later  Moorcastle  called  at  the  Lore- 
leighs',  and  was  received  by  the  lady  of  the  mansion 
with  one  of  her  silvery  giggles,  the  most  fascinating 
noise  of  merriment  that  ever  bubbled  over  coral  lips, 
a  joyous  tinkle  that  a  man  might  walk  a  league  to  hear. 

"  Well,  what  now  ?"  smilingly  demanded  the  Cap- 
tain, for  everybody  laughed  with  Mrs.  Loreleigh.  But 
at  the  same  time  he  looked  a  little  anxious,  for  she 
was  a  tease  who  could  take  the  skin  off  from  those  who 
liked  her,  and  he  liked  her  more  than  he  would  have 
cared  to  tell  Mr.  Latimer  Loreleigh. 

"  Oh,  what  a  monster!  "  she  began.  "  Oh,  what 
a  hard-hearted,  mischievous  creature!  Sit  down,  and 
get  out  your  handkerchief,  and  cry  a  while.  Then 
I  '11  tell  you  what  to  do  next." 

"  It  's  so  long  since  I  've  cried,"  said  the  Captain. 
"  However,  I  '11  sit  down,  since  you  are  so  good.  Let 
me  place  a  footstool  for  your  lovely  slippers." 

"  It  *s  about  that  poor  little  Oakbridge  thing,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Loreleigh,  tittering  from  her  slippers  to 
her  kinkled  auburn  hair. 

"  Oh  now,  quit  that,"  pleaded  Moorcastle.  "  Dem- 
me — beg  pardon.  Mistress  Loreleigh  —  but  I  don't 
want  to  hear." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  n't.  Nobody  except 
Beelzebub  likes  to  hear  the  ugly  results  of  his  own 
misdoings. ' '  And  Mrs.  Loreleigh  laughed,  and  colored, 
and  showed  her  white  teeth  till  she  was  altogether  daz- 
zling, as  well  as  smartly  provoking. 

"  Oh,  well — let  's  have  it,"  he  grumbled.  "  You 
may  as  well  kill  a  man  outright  as  scare  him  to  death." 


330  A  Lover's  Revolt 

So  she  told  the  story  in  her  own  way.  He  had 
taken  advantage  of  his  cloth  and  his  gentility  to  be- 
witch a  mere  innocent;  he  had  driven  the  sensitive 
little  thing  into  a  fit  of  illness  and  a  state  of  melan- 
choly ;  she  had  sought  after  consolation  in  the  services 
of  the  Church ;  and  her  Roundhead  of  a  father  had  cow- 
hided  her.  It  was  an  affair  which  would  surely  make 
talk  in  Boston  and  rouse  a  feeling  among  the  citizens 
against  the  garrison. 

It  must  be  understood,  incredible  as  the  fact  may 
seem,  that  Moorcastle  was  already  a  little  sore  on  the 
subject  of  Huldah.  He  perfectly  comprehended  that 
Gage  and  Small  and  other  notable  people  had  been 
specially  polite  to  her  because  they  believed  that  he 
had  treated  her  shabbily  and  spoken  of  her  unhand- 
somely. Armored  as  he  was  with  arrogance,  egotism, 
and  evil  experiences,  he  had  perforce  felt  uncomfortable 
under  this  outranking  disapprobation,  as  even  a  tortoise 
may  become  restless  when  a  sufficient  coal  of  fire  is 
laid  on  his  scaly  back.  So  he  swallowed  the  whole  of 
Mrs.  Loreleigh's  humorous  exaggeration,  and  fell  to 
exculpating  himself  as  if  he  had  been  seriously  incrim- 
inated, so  easily  may  even  a  veteran  rake  be  mystified 
by  a  clever  woman. 

Now  Mistress  Loreleigh!  "  he  protested.  "  It  's 
really  too  bad  to  lay  all  this  brabble  and  brangle  to 
me. 

"  Ah,  you  have  a  sore  conscience,"  she  replied,  de- 
lighted to  see  that  he  believed  her  inventions. 

No!  'pon  honor  now!  I  say  no!  Oh,  I  know 
that  some  people — Gage,  for  instance,  and  old  Small 
— thought  I  behaved  badly  to  the  girl — thought  I 
ought  to  offer.     But  how  the  doose  could  I  do  that, 


Lovely  Mrs.   Loreleigh  331 

I  want  to  know  ?  If  her  father  had  a  plum  to  settle 
on  her,  it  would  be  a  horse  of  another  breed.  But  you 
know  my  state  and  circumstances,  I  suppose ; — a  top- 
lofty name  to  keep  up,  and  three  hundred  a  year  to 
keep  it  on.  Of  course  there  are  possibilities;  and 
that  's  just  what  plays  the  doose  with  me;  that  's 
what  gets  me  into  these  hobbles.  But  suppose  my 
cousin  marries  and  has  a  young  earl  ?  Then  I  must  get 
an  heiress  for  a  wife,  or  go  without  a  wife.  That  's 
why  I  turned  a  short  corner  and  dodged  this  little  girl 
as  soon  as  I  found  out  for  certain  that  she  meant  U7ie 
affaire  serieiise.  I  swear  to  you.  Mistress  Loreleigh, 
I  took  the  first  cut  out.  I  gave  way  like  a  gentleman 
to  Eastwold,  who  has  more  guineas  than  I  have,  thrice 
over,  and  wants  her  like  a  dog.  And  she  won't  have 
him;  refuses  him  every  time  he  comes  to  the  scratch; 
breaks  the  poor  beggar's  heart.  He  's  outright  desper- 
ate; tells  the  whole  garrison  how  he  loves  her;  cries 
publicly  in  his  beer.  By  Jove,  it  makes  a  fellow  want 
to  shoot  him  to  put  him  out  of  his  misery." 

Mrs.  Loreleigh  had  suddenly  become  grave.  The 
story  of  a  serious  disappointment  in  love  could  hardly 
fail  to  touch  a  woman,  however  sportive  she  might  be 
in  temperament  and  however  seared  by  coquetry. 

**  Shooting  him  would  n't  end  it,"  she  said.  "  You 
would  still  have  to  shoot  her.'' 

"  My  simplest  way  out  would  be  to  shoot  myself." 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  getting  off  too  easy,"  she 
smiled.  "  Besides,  you  have  n't  the  slightest  notion 
of  meaning  it.     Don't  be  such  an  impostor." 

He  winced  and  flushed  under  the  merely  jocose  ap- 
plication of  the  ugly  name. 

"  Come!  "  she  resumed,  more  than  half  in  earnest 


232  A  Lover's  Revolt 

for  the  moment.    "  Be  merciful  to  the  child.     Run  and 
propose  while  your  heart  is  soft." 

"  Merciful  ?  Why  should  I  shoulder  all  the  compas- 
sion ?  Let  her  be  merciful  to  Eastwold.  After  that 
I  '11  take  my  turn." 

"  Oh,  you  dreadful  man!     For  shame  on  you!  " 

"  No,  no!  You  misunderstand  me  now,  'pon  honor. 
Mistress  Loreleigh.  You  are  just  a  bit  too  ready  to 
put  a  bad  construction  on  a  fellow's  stammering  and 
stuttering." 

Mrs.  Loreleigh  changed  her  attack;  for  she  was 
seriously  attacking  him  now ;  she  had  suddenly  become 
Huldah's  champion.  It  seemed  to  her  that  it  would 
be  noble  to  surrender  one  of  her  danglers  to  a  poor 
girl  who  was  interesting  enough  to  be  wildly  in  love. 

"  And  the  child  is  such  a  loyal  little  soul!"  she 
went  on.  "  They  say  she  has  brought  over  her  whole 
family  to  the  king.  And  here  you  treat  her  as  cruelly 
as  if  you  were  an  aid-de-camp  of  Old  Put." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Mistress  Loreleigh!  Don't  make 
a  political  matter  of  this  and  have  me  hung  for  high- 
treason." 

"  And  you  are  such  a  short-sighted  traitor,  too!  so 
blind  to  your  own  interests!  Here  you  have  a  chance 
to  get  a  loving,  submissive,  devoted  wife,  a  rose  not 
to  be  found  on  every  bush,  let  me  tell  you.  Come; 
do  the  wisest  thing  you  can ;  do  a  splendid  thing  for 
once;  see  how  it  feels!  " 

"  The  devil!  How  like  the  doose  you  are  shaking 
me  up!  " 

*'  Faugh!  don't  swear!  I  don't  allow  that  here  to 
anybody  below  the  commander-in-chief." 

Moorcastle  looked  more  nettled,  and  more  alarmed 


Lovely  Mrs.   Loreleigh  ;^2>3 

also,  than  one  could  easily  imagine  of  so  cool  a  head 
and  so  arrogant  a  soul,  unless  one  knows  by  experience 
that  eternal  terror  of  superiors  which  weighs  upon 
everybody  in  the  army.  He  really  was  fearful  lest 
this  capricious  and  domineering  creature  should  set 
the  commander-in-chief  against  him  about  something 
or  other.  He  began  to  plead  his  case  in  downright 
earnest. 

"  Oh,  shake  away,"  he  said,  recurring  to  his  simile 
of  a  terrier  and  a  rat.  "  I  won't  deny  but  what  I  de- 
serve it  enough;  if  I  don't  now,  I  dare  say  I  shall 
another  time.  There  is  just  the  trouble,  Mistress 
Loreleigh.  What  you  demand  of  me  is  not  the  best 
thing  for  the  young  lady.  Likely  enough  she  might 
be  loving  and  constant;  but  should  I  be  so  in  return  ? 
"What  sort  of  a  life  should  I  lead  her  ?  I  want  plums 
of  money.  I  want  horses  and  cards  and—other  things. 
I  don't  believe  I  could  give  them  up  for  the  best  wife 
in  the  world,  especially  if  I  took  her  merely  out  of 
compassion  and  to  please  other  people.  And  then  I 
am  not  what  they  call  a  good  fellow;  I  have  the 
doose's  own  temper.  Mistress  Loreleigh.  What  you 
advise  would  be  Satan's  particular  luck  for  the  young 
lady  herself." 

The  right  honorable  young  gentleman  appreciated 
himself  exactly ;  he  would  have  been  a  dreadful  hus- 
band, even  throwing  in  the  possible  coronet.  The 
misery  of  the  case  was  that  poor  Huldah  could  not 
divine  this,  and  would  not  have  believed  the  Angel  of 
Witness  if  he  had  flown  from  Heaven  to  tell  her  of  it. 

But  Mrs.  Loreleigh  was  woman  of  the  world  enough, 
and  was  familiar  enough  with  bad  young  fellows,  to 
see  that  Moorcastle's  statement  was  correct.     More- 


334  A  Lover's  Revolt 

over,  her  spirit  of  championship  for  an  abused  sister 
was  placated  by  the  fact  that  the  Captain  had  humbled 
himself  to  her  and  had  in  a  manner  pleaded  for  her 
belleship's  forgiveness. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  she  said.  "  More  's  the 
pity,  for  the  girl's  sake  and  yours.  Of  course  she 
would  rather  have  you  break  her  heart  in  her  way; 
but  I  see  that  you  had  better  break  it  in  your  own. 
She  must  put  up  with  Hobson's  choice.  Ah,  dear! 
that  is  generally  the  only  choice  left  to  us  poor 
women." 

"  If  you  had  less  of  a  choice,  Mistress  Loreleigh,  the 
others  would  have  more,"  the  Captain  murmured  with 
a  leer  of  gallantry. 

"  Now  don't  be  personal,"  returned  madame,  rather 
tartly.  **  I  permit  that  only  to  major-generals.  And, 
see  here;  if  you  are  deserting  Huldah  Oakbridge  to 
court  me,  you  may  just  trot  back  to  her." 

"  Beg  pardon,"  bowed  Moorcastle,  who  was  getting 
more  and  more  smitten  with  the  domineering  lady. 

"  Granted — on  one  condition,"  she  said.  "  I  shall 
tell  everybody  that  this  girl  refused  you,  and  you 
shall  not  deny  it." 

The  prospective  heir  of  an  earldom  nodded  assent, 
and  the  remainder  of  his  call  was  made  agreeable  to 
him. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

MATCHMAKING 

ABOUT  these  times  Huldah's  friends  began  to 
note  that  she  had  got  into  a  dreamy  way,  brood- 
ing tranquilly  by  the  half-hour  together  if  they  did  not 
disturb  her,  the  violet  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy  as  aim- 
lessly as  the  eyes  of  an  infant.  There  seemed  to  be 
nothing  unhappy  in  her  reveries;  on  the  contrary,  a 
sweet  smile  sometimes  stole  to  the  lips;  the  expression 
of  the  eyes,  too,  was  gentle  and  tender. 

*'  She  'pears  to  be  getting  over  her  disappointment 
some,"  whispered  Jehiel  Oakbridge  to  his  wife. 

The  mother  glanced  at  the  girl  with  an  unconscious 
scowl  of  disapproval  or  anxiety,  and  then  spoke  out 
sharply,  as  one  speaks  to  a  sleeper  who  has  no  right  to 
sleep:  "  Huldah!  Get  up  out  of  that  chair.  Take 
your  broom  and  sweep  the  bedrooms." 

Again  and  again,  whenever  she  caught  the  girl  in  a 
day-dream,  she  roused  her  in  this  tart  fashion,  some- 
times pushing  her  by  the  shoulder. 

"  What  makes  you  so  harsh  with  her  ? "  gently  pro- 
tested Oakbridge. 

"  I  wish  she  was  married  and  off  my  hands,"  said 
the  mother. 

A  day  or  two  later  Oakbridge  came  in  from  the  store 
at  an  unusual  hour,  and  confided  to  his  wife  the  state- 

335 


1 


336  A  Lover's  Revolt 

ment  that  the  Old  Harry  himself  seemed  to  be  after 
Huldah. 

"  What  's  the  matter  now  ?"  she  demanded  with 
the  emphasis  of  nervous  irritation. 

"  Why,  John  says  that  Ann  tells  him  that  Huldy 
told  her  that  somebody  is  a-foUowing  her;  that  is, 
following  Huldy.     It  's  an  officer." 

"  Following  Huldy  ?  An  officer  ?  Why,  it  's  that 
Mr.  Eastwold;  we  know  all  about  it.  I  hope  it  ain't 
Captain  Tollemache." 

**  No,  it  ain't  either  of  *em;  it  *s  somebody  Huldy 
don't  know;  she  hain't  fairly  seen  his  face  yet.  But 
he  follows  her  into  alleys,  and  makes  love  to  her,  and 
hints  about  marriage." 

"  Why  has  n't  she  told  me  !  "  exclaimed  the  mother. 
"  I  '11  speak  to  her  about  it  at  once." 

But  Huldah  was  out,  having  gone  with  Sister  Ann 
to  call  on  Mrs.  Loreleigh,  at  whose  house  a  dialogue 
took  place  which  seems  not  unworthy  of  record.  Mrs. 
Oliver  was  there,  her  short  and  tremulous  and  jellified 
figure  done  up  in  flowered  satin,  and  her  round,  pulpy, 
pink  face  shaking  with  laughter,  as  she  listened  to  the 
silvery  prattle  of  the  hostess  tinkling  through  a  tale  of 
garrison  scandal.  The  grand  dame  (wife  of  the  chief- 
justice  of  the  province,  remember)  smiled  upon  Huldah 
with  the  kindliness  of  an  old  lady  towards  the  girl  who 
has  the  sort  of  beauty  which  she  herself  had  in  youth. 

"  Here  comes  our  kitten,"  she  said  in  her  high- 
soprano  voice,  which  bubbled  so  feebly  to  the  surface 
of  her  fat. 

"  The  officer-killer,"  added  Mrs.  Loreleigh,  giving 
Huldah  a  kiss  and  Sister  Ann  a  nod. 

"  Ah,  yes,  the  poor  captain  ;  and  the  rest  of  them !  " 


Matchmaking  337 

giggled  Mrs.  Oliver,  who  had  already  heard  from  Mrs. 
Loreleigh  the  tale  which  Moorcastle  had  consented  to 
her  telling. 

Huldah  flushed  and  opened  her  eyes  wide;  but  the 
hostess  gave  her  no  time  to  get  flurried.  "  What  a 
lovely  gown!  "  she  warbled,  taking  hold  of  the  girl's 
skirt.  '*  We  must  have  that  at  the  play  to-night.  I 
want  the  audience  to  be  superb." 

"  But,  oh!  "  sighed  Mrs.  Oliver.  "  What  a  notion 
to  have  such  gayeties  now!  I  do  think  it  is  no  time 
for  dear  General  Burgoyne  to  be  arranging  dramatic 
entertainments.  Not  that  a  play  will  dishonor  Faneuil 
Hall,  as  some  of  our  poor  rebel  neighbors  declare.  I 
am  sure  the  naughtiest  comedy  that  ever  was  written 
can't  be  half  so  wicked  and  immoral  as  what  the  Hall 
has  listened  to  in  the  way  of  treasonable  resolutions 
and  orations.  But  I  do  object,  dear  Mistress  Lore- 
leigh, to  all  levities  in  a  town  situated  as  Boston  is. 
Why,  my  dear  (turning  to  Huldah)  we  have  already 
eaten  up  the  provision  your  father  brought  us,  if  one 
can  judge  by  the  prices.  Just  think — to  say  nothing 
of  the  cannonading  and  night-alarms — just  think  of 
salt  beef  at  fifteen  pence  the  pound  !  And  vegetables? ' ' 
(Here  she  faced  round  upon  Sister  Ann,  complimenting 
them  all,  by  turn,  with  a  remark,  after  the  manner  of 
polite  old  grandees.)  "  Why!  no  vegetables  at  any 
price;  no  flour,  whether  wheat,  rye,  or  Injun;  scarcely 
beans  for  our  Sunday  dinners.  And  the  military 
magazines  so  bare  that  good,  dear  General  Howe 
dares  n't  give  out  a  day's  rations  to  our  starving  poor! 
No  fuel,  and  bitter  winter  full  upon  us,  so  that  people 
are  starving  for  food  and  fire  at  once." 

"  There  should  n't  be  any  lack  of  fuel,"  said  Mrs. 


338  A  Lover's  Revolt 

Loreleigh,  who,  like  Mrs.  Oliver,  had  forgotten  the 
opening  topic  of  the  colloquy,  so  interesting  was  the 
tale  of  expensive  markets  and  public  scarcity.  *'  There 
are  plenty  of  houses  of  rebels.  Why  not  use  them  for 
firewood  ?  " 

"  Oh,  mem,  they  are  going  fast  enough,"  Mrs.  John 
Oakbridge  stated.  "  Why,  as  we  came  along  we  sor 
a  house " 

"  Yes,  indeed!  "  interrupted  Dame  Oliver,  forgetting 
her  diplomatic  manners.  "  I  should  think  half  the 
army  was  on  command  knocking  houses  to  pieces  and 
carting  them  off  to  the  barracks.  Such  sights  as  the 
poor  soldiers  are,  in  their  work-a-day  uniforms,  all 
dust  and  lime  and  soot!  It  's  a  relief  to  think  that 
their  mothers  can't  see  them  in  such  a  state.  But, 
after  all  said  and  done,  it  is  we  who  have  most  occasion 
to  weep,  beholding  our  poor  dear  old  Boston  going  to 
slivers  under  our  eyes,  and  our  fellow-citizens  shipped 
off  to  the  mainland  to  beg.  Why,  Mistress  Loreleigh, 
three  hundred  old  men  and  women  and  children  were 
landed  at  Chelsea  yesterday,  without  a  mouthful  of 
victual.  And  the  housebreaking  and  plundering,  too! 
Scarcely  a  day  passes  but  somebody's  place  is  stripped. 
I  look  under  the  bed  every  night  for  tramps  and  jailbirds 
and  grenadiers  and  marines  and  Loyal  Americans.  Rug- 
gles'  Regulators  were  saints  and  cherubs  of  light  com- 
pared with  the  sons  of  Belial  who  trouble  us  now.  It  does 
seem  to  me  that  our  dear,  excellent  commander " 

"  Oh,  he  does  all  he  can,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Loreleigh, 
pettishly.  "  The  criminals  are  getting  three  hundred, 
four  hundred,  five  hundred  lashes." 

"  And  a  thousand,"  interjected  Sister  Ann,  proud 
that  Britannic  manhood  could  take  so  many. 


Matchmaking  339 

"  Oh,  I  saw  the  dreadfuUest  thing  yesterday,"  added 
Huldah,  "  It  was  a  woman;  I  thought  at  first  it  was 
a  soldier;  but  it  was  a  woman.  They  were  whipping 
her  through  the  streets.     It  made  me  sick." 

One  hundred  lashes  on  the  bare  back,"  explained 
Ann  with  calm  satisfaction. 

Oh,  shocking!  "  cried  Mrs.  Loreleigh,  hitching  up 
her  lovely  shoulders  with  a  shiver. 

**  Oh,  no,  my  dear,  not  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Oliver. 
"  The  Judge  tells  me  it  served  her  perfectly  right. 
She  was  a  receiver  of  stolen  goods." 

But  on  the  bare  back!  "  insisted  Mrs.  Loreleicrh. 

o 

Mercy  !  how  it  must  have  felt!     Did  she  whoop  ?  " 
"  Oh!  I  should  say  so;  she  screeched  awfully,"  re- 
plied Huldah. 

She  made  a  beesly  howling, '  *  sneered  Ann.  *  *  And 
an  Englishwoman,  too !  If  I  was  called  on  to  take  a 
hundred,  I  'd  hold  my  jor  about  it  if  it  killed  me." 

"But  in  public!"  persisted  Mrs.  Loreleigh,  who 
seemed  to  be  fascinated  by  the  coarse  horror  of  the 
story.     **  And  a  round,  slashing  hundred!  " 

Well,  why  not  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Oliver,  a  lady 
of  an  older  school,  and  a  Judge's  wife.  ' '  Her  husband 
got  six  times  as  many." 

Mercy!  she  did  n't  lack  for  sympathy;  I  wonder 
if  he  really  gave  her  any.     These  pettish  husbands!  " 

I  am  sure  you  have  a  patient  one.  Mistress  Lore- 
leigh," flattered  Mrs.  Oliver,  and  then  blushed  scarlet 
over  the  inadvertence,  for  Loreleigh  was  generally 
sniffed  at  as  being  too  patient. 

There  would  have  been  an  awkward  silence,  only 
that  Mrs.  Loreleigh  uttered  a  tranquil  giggle,  and 
added,  "  Yes,  he  is  a  treasure." 


340  A  Lover's  Revolt 

"  Well,  where  was  I  ?  I  was  talking  about  some- 
thing,"  stammered  the  old  lady,  anxious  to  get  away 
from  a  subject  which  had  led  her  into  such  a  blunder. 

''Was  n't  it  General  Burgoyne's  play?"  asked 
Huldah,  who  had  not  yet  received  an  invitation  to  that 
spectacle,  and  had  made  her  call  in  the  hope  of  getting 
one. 

"  Oh,  yes;  well,  I  was  going  to  say,  it  's  no  time 
tor  such  light-mindedness  when  Boston  is  in  such  a 
condition  as  it  is  in." 

"  Salt  beef  fifteen  pence  the  pound,"  interjected  the 
hostess  with  an  arch  giggle. 

"  Ah,  it  makes  little  difference  to  yotij'*  answered 
Mrs.  Oliver,  gently  resenting  the  insinuation  that  she 
was  painfully  given  to  frugality.  "  But  do  let  us  con- 
sider those  who  are  in  want,  and  the  general  desolation 
of  Boston.  No,  I  say,  it  's  no  time  for  the  drama. 
We  had  better  all  of  us — the  garrison  as  well  as  the 
citizens — be  on  our  knees  in  our  closets." 

Mrs.  Loreleigh  laughed  outright  at  the  notion  of  her 
ofificer  friends  engaged  in  secret  prayer.  "  My  dear," 
she  said,  "  the  garrison  never  prays  except  in  public. 
But  do  let  our  poor  gentlemen  have  a  little  joviality. 
They  need  a  farce  to  keep  them  out  of  the  hospital." 

"  Can't  the  young  ladies  enliven  them  ?  They  used 
to  in  my  time.  Now  there  is  Miss  Oakbridge;  I  am 
sure  she  could  cheer  up  half  a  dozen." 

Mrs.  Oliver  surveyed  the  girl  with  a  lingering  glance 
of  admiration;  so  like  her  own  youthful  self,  she 
thought,  and  therefore  so  pretty ! 

"  More  likely  to  kill  half  a  dozen,"  said  Mrs.  Lore- 
leigh, recurring  in  mind  to  the  fable  which  she  had 
imposed  upon  Moorcastle.     "  Where  are  you  going  to 


Matchmaking  341 

bury  the  captain  and  lieutenant  ?  "  she  added,  address- 
ing Huldah.  "  Dear  me,  how  calmly  you  take  it! 
But  I  believe  people  soon  get  used  to  murder — that 
kind  of  murder.  Who  knows  but  what  I  might  learn 
to  like  it  ?" 

"Oh,  you!''  simpered  Mrs.  Oliver.  But  she 
checked  herself,  for  though  the  subject  of  flirtation 
was  delightful  to  the  venerable  coquette,  she  really 
must  not  countenance  such  joking  in  a  married  woman. 

Surely,  this  is  naughtier  than  the  drama,"  she  puck- 
ered. Then  turning  to  Huldah,  **  I  advise  you,  my 
love,  to  run  away  from  dear  Mrs.  Loreleigh.  The 
young  gentlemen  are  safer  company." 

The  pretty  hostess  laughed,  patted  the  old  lady  on 
the  shoulder,  followed  her  to  the  door,  and  bade  her 
adieu  with  a  kiss.  Then  she  rustled  back  to  Huldah, 
sat  down  knee  to  knee  with  her,  and  pettingly  took 
and  held  both  her  hands. 

"  Old  Dame  Oliver  does  n't  like  me  a  bit,"  she  said 
with  a  sparkling  smile,  bubbling  off  in  a  cunning  little 
cooing  giggle.  "  But  she  would  n't  come  to  see  me 
half  so  much  if  I  did  n't  do  just  the  things  and  catch 
just  the  people  that  she  hectors  me  about.  There  's 
a  lesson  for  you.  If  you  want  to  bully  the  women, 
you  must  govern  the  men.  And  now  let  me  talk  to 
you  about  yourself.  I  am  so  glad  you  refused  the 
captain.  He  is  hard  and  hateful,  and  would  have 
made  a  dreadful  husband;  and  you  have  a  right  to 
say  so  frankly  when  people  ask  questions  about  it." 

She  had  uttered  all  this  concerning  Moorcastle  in  a 
rapid  chatter,  as  if  to  get  through  with  it  before  Huldah 
could  faint  or  fall  to  crying.  The  girl  listened  without 
flinching,  and  indeed  with  an  air  of  being  agreeably 


342  A  Lovers  Revolt 

fascinated.  Sister  Ann,  sitting  thousands  of  miles  off 
in  her  Highgate  dullness,  and  staring  at  them  out  of 
her  marvelling,  wide-open  eyes,  contrived  to  suspect 
that  here  was  a  story  which  they  two  had  agreed  upon, 
probably  at  some  former  interview. 

But  Mrs.  Loreleigh  had  leaped  lightly  away  from 
the  delicate  topic.  "  And  now  I  want  you  to  catch 
somebody  worth  having,"  she  continued,  jerking 
Huldah's  hands  alternately  to  keep  her  attention. 
"  Come!  You  must  n't  go  off  into  a  turkey's  dream 
while  I  am  talking  to  you  on  business;  you  never  will 
be  a  queen  of  society  if  you  don't  keep  alive,  and  all 
alive,  every  minute.  There  is  Major  Brinsmade  to  be 
attended  to ; — wife  lately  buried,  and  no  children ; — 
just  dying  of  lonesomeness.  I  am  going  to  tell  the 
poor,  dear  man  what  a  sweet  little  girl  you  are." 

Huldah  burst  out  laughing,  and  so  did  Ann  Oak- 
bridge — a  few  seconds  later.  Perhaps  no  properly 
constituted  woman  could  have  helped  it. 

"  Oh,  you  would  be  such  a  comfort  to  him,  my 
dear!  "  continued  Mrs.  Loreleigh,  echoing  the  laugh- 
ter with  her  enchanting  silvery  tinkle.  **  And  he  's  a 
better  man  than  the  captain,  and  ever  so  much  finer 
than  the  lieutenant,  and  sure  to  be  a  colonel." 

Sister  Ann  nodded  her  head  emphatically  to  each 
one  of  these  particulars.  It  was  sad  to  give  up  all 
chance  of  a  coronet;  but  Major  Brinsmade  was  at 
least  an  Englishman  and  a  field-officer;  he  would  do, 
for  lack  of  better. 

I  don't  like  widowers,"  softly  drawled 
My  child,  that  's  your  inexperience.  TWhen  you 
have  had  one  widower,  you  will  never  marry  anything 


Matchmaking  343 

*'  That  's  just  always  what  my  mar  said,"  interjected 
Ann  with  vivacity.  "  My  par  was  her  secknt ;  I  mean 
she  was  his  secknt." 

Huldah  had  been  gazing  steadily  into  Mrs.  Lore- 
leigh's  lovely  iron-gray  eyes.  Of  a  sudden  she  leaned 
forward,  caught  her  by  the  shoulders,  and  kissed  her 
cheek,  whispering,  "  I  wish  j^//  were  a  widower." 

"  There,  there,"  laughed  the  elder  belle,  blushing 
and  disengaging  herself.  "  Save  those  sweeties  for 
the  Major." 

She  threw  a  sharp,  inquisitive  glance  at  the  girl's 
face,  shook  her  smartly  by  the  wrists  as  if  to  awaken 
her,  and  pushed  her  back  into  an  upright  position. 
Then  she  changed  the  subject,  denouncing  the  doleful 
old  fashions  which  prevailed  in  afflicted  Boston,  and 
hoping  that  the  troubles  would  soon  end  so  that  it 
would    be    possible    to    order   new  stuffs   and    styles. 

Goodness  gracious!  "  she  concluded,  "  we  should  be 
frights  in  London." 

Ann  Oakbridge,  who  had  never  had  more  than  one 
dress  a  year  in  Highgate,  added  her  little  tribute  of 
scorn  for  the  colonies,  tossing  up  her  comely,  freckled 
nose  and  sniffing,  "  Whatever  can  you  expect  outside 
of  Lunnun  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Huldah,  staring  vacantly  at 
Ann.  **  But  what  did  I  come  here  for  ?  I  had  some- 
thing particular  on  my  mind." 

Ann  colored  and  remained  silent,  but  Mrs.  Loreleigh 
made  a  happy  guess.  "  Remember  to  be  at  the  the- 
atre to-night,"  she  said.  "  Are  you  invited  ?  No  ? 
Oh,  that  is  so  lucky!  I  '11  send  Major  Brinsmade  for 
you.  Now  be  sure  you  invite  him  in  and  behave 
pretty  to  him.    » Widowers  are  the  easiest  proposed  to 


/ 


344  A  Lover's  Revolt 

of  all  men.  They  are  used  to  caring  for  women  ;  used 
to  giving  up  to  them.     They  can't  refuse  an  offer." 

Huldah  tried  to  kiss  her  once  more  as  they  parted ; 
but  Mrs.  Loreleigh  dodged  the  girl  with  a  giggle,  as 
she  might  have  dodged  a  man;  then  getting  hold  of 
her  arms  from  behind,  she  pushed  her  caressingly  out 
of  the  room. 

"  What  's  the  meaning  of  such  conduck  ?"  Ann 
demanded  of  her  sister-in-law  the  moment  they  were 
out  of  doors.  "  You  ought  to  walk  more  lowly  with 
your  betters." 

Huldah,  who  was  gazing  dreamily  at  a  passing  gren- 
adier— tall,  and  straight-backed,  and  superbly  swag- 
gering— made  no  other  reply  than  to  whisper,  "  Is  that 
Ash  Farnlee  ?  " 

"  No!  "  scoffed  Ann.  "  That  's  one  of  the  Loyal 
Americans." 

But  she  glanced  twice  across  the  street  to  make  sure 
that  the  man  was  not  Farnlee. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 


THEATRICALS 


ON  reaching  home  Huldah  ran  up  to  her  room  and 
locked  herself  into  it,  as  was  her  frequent  custom 
of  late. 

Throwing  off  her  hat  and  cloak,  she  swayed  and 
twisted  and  bridled  before  the  looking-glass  for  a 
minute  or  two,  and  then,  sinking  upon  a  chair  by  the 
head  of  her  bed,  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow  and 
softly  whispered  to  it.  But  she  had  no  time  to  in- 
dulge in  the  revery  for  which  she  had  sought  to  be 
alone.  A  smart  rap  and  a  summons  in  her  mother's 
voice  obliged  her  to  open  the  door. 

Huldy,"  said  Mrs.  Oakbridge,  in  her  thin,  deliber- 
ate utterance,  "  what  is  this  story  about  your  being 
followed  by  somebody  ?  " 

Without  looking  her  mother  in  the  eyes  the  girl 
hastened  back  to  her  seat  and  buried  her  face  in  the 
pillow  again. 

Huldy,  what  is  it  ?  "  insisted  Mrs.  Oakbridge. 

"It  's  a  man,"  the  girl  drawled  unwillingly. 
"  There!"  she  added,  putting  forth  a  hand,  though 
still  keeping  her  face  averted.  "  See  how  he  grabbed 
me  by  the  wrist.      Don't  squeeze  it.      It  's  sore." 

The  mother  examined  the  wrist,  noted  that  there 

345 


346  A  Lover's  Revolt 

were  red  finger-marks  upon  it,  and  asked,  "  When  was 
that  done  ?  " 

Huldah  dragged  back  her  hand  pettishly,  and  mut- 
tered, "  You  are  always  asking  me  questions." 

"Huldah!  answer  me!"  commanded  Mrs.  Oak- 
bridge. 

"  I  wdiS  going  to.  It  was  done  this  afternoon,  just 
after  I  left  Ann.  I  ran  down  to  the  wharf  to  look  at 
the  frigate  that  got  in  yesterday,  and  he  came  round  a 
corner  and  caught  hold  of  me.  He  wanted  to  marry 
me,  he  said  ;  he  always  says  that.  He  said  so  this 
morning — this  afternoon,  I  mean.  You  are  so  cross 
with  me  I  don't  know  what  I  'm  saying.  He  held  on 
to  me  and  pinched  me  to  make  me  answer  him.  But 
I  screamed  and  tore  away  home.  He  has  pounced  on 
to  me  four  or  five  times  now.  I  can't  go  out  without 
being  scared  for  fear  of  meeting  him.  He  's  an  officer, 
and  wears  epaulets,  but  I  never  can  see  his  face.  He 
always  has  a  cloak  on,  with  a  high  fur  collar  drawn 
up  to  his  eyes,  and  a  large  hat  drawn  over  his  forehead. 
Just  his  eyes  is  all  I  can  see." 

Take  your  head  out  of  that    pillow,"    said    Mrs. 
Oakbridge.     **  Look  up  here;  look  at  me." 

Huldah  straightened  herself  in  her  chair  and  gazed 
doggedly  into  her  mother's  face  with  an  air  of  sulky 
defiance.  "  There!  "  she  pouted.  "  You  are  always 
scolding  me.  What  have  I  done  ?  What  have  I  ?  I 
wish  you  'd  tell  me." 

Mrs.  Oakbridge  was  confounded ;  she  examined  the 
round,  soft  wrist  again;  but  the  red  finger-marks  were 
certainly  there. 

So  this  is  what  you  have  been  brooding  about  ?" 
she  asked  in  a  softened  voice. 


Theatricals  347 

Huldah  laid  her  arms  on  the  pillow,  dropped  her 
head  between  them  with  a  sigh,  and  presently  drawled 
softly,  "  Ye-s." 

"  You  must  n't  go  out  so  much  alone,"  said  the 
mother.  "  Now  tidy  up  your  room,  and  then  come 
down  and  set  the  table.  After  supper  you  shall  do 
some  quilting." 

But  this  healthful  programme  was  brushed  aside  by 
the  early  arrival  of  Major  Brinsmade,  who  explained 
that  he  had  been  sent  by  Mrs.  Loreleigh  to  bring  Miss 
Oakbridge  back  to  tea  and  the  play. 

He  was  a  tall  and  slender  man  of  thirty-five,  with 
high  cheek-bones  and  a  sandy,  freckled  skin,  but  a 
sweet,  pensive,  and  almost  mournful  expression.  It 
was  one  of  those  plain  faces  which  intelligent  women 
are  apt  to  study  with  sympathy,  and  to  find  erelong 
very  agreeable,  if  not  fascinating.  Mrs.  Oakbridge 
gave  him  one  sharp  glance  of  investigation,  querying 
whether  he  could  be  the  officer  of  mysterious  surprises. 
But  it  was  impossible  to  impute  evil  or  silliness  to  a 
man  who  had  that  shyly  gracious  bearing  and  those 
honest,  pathetic  eyes.  So  Huldah  and  her  red-coated 
escort  set  off  arm  in  arm  for  the  Loreleigh  house. 

*'  I  am  so  grateful  to  you.  Miss,  for  coming  with 
me,"  said  the  Major  as  he  looked  kindly  down  into 
the  dreamy  blue  eyes  that  were  lifted  to  his. 

Obviously  he  considered  her  little  more  than  a  child, 
and  for  that  very  reason  found  her  lovely  and  attract- 
ive. There  was  something  of  the  father  in  his  ex- 
pression, because  there  was  something  of  the  father 
in  his  heart.  He  had  reached  the  age  when  a  man 
longs  to  love  even  more  than  he  longs  to  be  loved. 
Huldah  had  a  chance  to  win  from  this  matured  soul 


348  A  Lover's  Revolt 

(prematurely  matured  by  bereavement)  a  profound  and 
patient  affection.  Did  she  divine  it  ?  How  could  she 
when  she  was  so  young  and  shallow,  and  so  occupied 
with  another,  or  others  ? 

Nevertheless,  she  was  apparently  interested  in  him, 
at  least  for  the  moment.  There  was  a  sparkle  like  a 
loving  smile  in  the  glances  which  she  gave  him.  He 
found  these  glances  charming,  and  looked  down  for 
them  every  time  that  he  spoke  to  her,  unconsciously 
drawing  her  a  little  nearer  to  his  side,  and  hardly 
noting  whither  he  was  going.  Any  observing  passer- 
by would  have  guessed  that  they  two  were  affianced 
lovers. 

"  I  wish  it  had  been  a  longer  march,"  he  said  as  they 
entered  the  Loreleigh  mansion. 

**  I  wish  so  too,"  replied  Huldah,  so  fervently  that 
her  good  angel  and  her  attendant  Major  both  rejoiced. 
Brinsmade's  whole  soul  was  trembling  in  wonder  and 
hope.  It  seemed  to  him  that  in  less  than  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  it  had  been  settled  for  him  that  he  should  give 
up  his  heart  and  win  another. 

And  then,  just  for  a  single  painful  moment,  a  spasm 
of  doubt  crossed  his  face.  How  could  it  be  that  the 
place  of  the  vanished  one  had  been  so  suddenly  claimed, 
and  secured,  and  made  good  ?  But  he  was  cheerier  at 
the  tea-table  than  he  had  been  for  a  long  time,  even 
at  tables  where  port  and  madeira  and  Jamaica  punches 
flowed  copiously. 

"  You  must  eat  heartily,  Major,"  the  hostess  said  to 
him.  "  You  will  be  hungry  before  we  get  through  the 
Blockade  of  Boston.  And  we  can't  let  you  eat  Miss 
Oakbridge,  though  of  course  you  would  like  to." 

"  Would  n't  we  all  like  to!  "  cried  a  saucy  young 


Theatricals  349 

lieutenant  who  must  have  been  high-born,  or  he  would 
not  have  been  there. 

Mrs.  Loreleigh  gave  him  a  kick  under  the  table  with 
the  heel  of  her  red  shoe.  Huldah  glanced  at  the 
lieutenant  and  then  at  the  Major,  sending  into  the 
eyes  of  each  the  same  dreamy,  tender  gaze.  The 
youngster  returned  her  glance  swiftly,  and  then  made 
a  pitiful  grimace  at  the  frowning  hostess,  pretending 
that  his  shins  were  awfully  hurt. 

The  Major  had  stared  at  the  lieutenant  with  indig- 
nation ;  but  in  another  minute  he  forgot  his  wrath  in 
serving  and  watching  Huldah.  He  helped  her  assidu- 
ously ;  he  scarcely  conversed  with  another  person ;  and 
he  was  forever  looking  down  into  her  eyes.  A  certain 
Captain  Addison,  and  a  jolly  young  refugee  from 
Salem  called  Miss  Hesketh,  were  much  amused  by  his 
devotion,  and  flashed  sly  twinkles  at  each  other. 

Instantly  after  tea  (or  rather  supper,  and  a  hearty 
one)  the  ladies  rustled  upstairs  and  prepared  for  the 
play.  Huldah,  who  was  in  a  high-necked  gown,  flitted 
around  the  scantily  attired,  lovely  hostess,  arranging 
what  little  drapery  there  was  to  arrange  and  ending 
with  a  kiss  on  the  round,  white  neck.  But  Mrs. 
Loreleigh  had  that  healthy  aversion  to  being  fondled 
by  her  own  sex  which  is  common  to  women  who  are 
favorites  with  the  other. 

**  Get  away!  "  she  said  in  a  rather  pettish  whisper. 
"  Save  all  your  nonsense  for  the  Major.  You  've 
caught  the  best  fellow  in  the  garrison." 

Two  rather  forlorn  sleighs,  drawn  by  horses  who 
evidently  suffered  from  the  general  scarcity  of  provi- 
sions, took  the  eight  persons  of  the  party  to  Faneuil 
Hall.     It  was  a  very  select  audience  which  had  gath- 


^CQ  A  Lover's  Revolt 

ered  to  witness  the  loyal  farce  of  "  The  Blockade  of 
Boston."  Uniforms  were  everywhere ;  all  the  showy 
uniforms  of  the  British  army  and  navy;  all  sorts  of 
epaulets,  from  those  of  generals  down  to  those  of 
Heutenants;  three  hundred  officers  at  the  least.  And 
there,  too,  were  the  grandee  Tories  of  Boston;  the 
men  in  their  powdered  hair,  and  high-colored  coats,  and 
silk  vests,  and  ruffles;  the  women  in  their  long  waists, 
and  lofty  headgear,  and  scarlet  slippers. 

A  most  respectful  sergeant  ushered  the  Loreleigh 
party  to  a  box,  or  something  in  imitation  of  one,  on 
the  right  of  the  stage. 

"  I  don't  see  any  generals;  it  can't  be  your  place," 
whispered  the  saucy  lieutenant  as  he  undraped  Mrs. 
Loreleigh  of  her  out-of-door  wrappings. 

She  whacked  his  fingers  with  her  fan,  glanced  rapidly 
around  the  audience,  sparkled  her  white  teeth  at  one 
and  another,  and  exulted,  "  Is  n't  it  fine!  We  make 
a  pretty  respectable  show  yet.  I  wish  Sam  Adams 
and  John  Hancock  could  be  brought  in  to  see  us." 

"  What  sort  of  people.  Mistress  Loreleigh,  were 
those  rebel  leaders?"  asked  Colonel  Glendinning,  a 
courteous,  elderly  warrior  with  red  coUops  of  cheeks 
and  a  vast  spread  of  waistcoat. 

"  Disgustingly  vulgar,"  said  the  Tory  belle.  "  Sam 
Adams  never  had  on  a  decent  suit,  except  when  he 
was  clothed  by  charity.  John  Hancock  was  a  strutting 
turkey-gobbler,  and  the  head  smuggler  of  these  pro- 
vinces. Joseph  Warren  was  a  sophomorical  apothecary- 
surgeon,  who  neglected  his  shop  and  his  few  patients, 
and  died  a  bankrupt,  leaving  his  children  beggars. 
James  Otis  went  mad.     I  suppose  the  rest  will  in  time. ' ' 

"Great    heavens,    Madam!"    stared    the   Colonel. 


Theatricals  351 

But  how  in  heaven's  name  could  such  persons  lead 
all  these  provinces  astray  ?  " 

Addison  and  others  glanced  sidelong  at  Mrs.  Lore- 
leigh,  as  if  wondering  what  she  would  do  with  Glen- 
dinning's  puzzling  question.  But  the  spoiled  loyalist 
beauty  did  not  trouble  herself  to  answer  it  at  all. 
She  had  dismissed  the  subject  from  her  mind,  and 
she  was  nodding  to  new  arrivals  in  the  pit.  Miss 
Hesketh,  seeing  that  the  Colonel  was  neglected 
and  aggrieved,  came  to  his  diversion  with  a  word  or 
two. 

Is  it  true,  sir,  that  the  rebels  mean  to  attack  Bos- 
ton shortly  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bless  you — no,  my  dear  Miss — can't  be  true," 
scoffed  the  worthy  veteran.  "  They  talk  of  it  now  and 
then  to  keep  their  courage  up.  Their — their  what  do 
you  call  it  ? — their  Congress  has  recommended  it  to 
Mr.  Washington.  But  bless  your  lovely  eyes,  Mr. 
Washington  has  n't  the  power  to  do  it;  he  has  n't  the 
men.  His  army  is  dispersing  at  a  wondrous  rate. 
Oh,  bless  you,  there  won't  be  any  attack;  be  quite 
easy  on  that  point.  And,  if  there  is  one,  we  are  your 
devoted  defenders." 

He  might  have  made  other  remarks  worthy  of  en- 
during record,  but  at  this  moment  there  was  a  tramp- 
ling of  boots  in  the  adjoining  box,  and  two  distinguished 
men  appeared  there.  One  was  Howe,  six  feet  high, 
large,  shapely,  and  graceful,  with  a  resemblance  in  the 
face  to  Washington.  The  other  was  Clinton,  short 
and  stout,  his  cheeks  red  and  puffy,  and  his  nose  oddly 
prominent.  The  ofificers  with  Mrs.  Loreleigh  sprang 
up  and  saluted ;  the  ladies  bowed,  showed  their  teeth, 
bridled,  and  blushed.     Clinton  nodded  stiffly  and  awk- 


^C2  A  Lover's  Revolt 

wardly,  but  Howe  was  courtly  and  very  gracious,  espe- 
cially in  saluting  Mrs.  Loreleigh. 

Huldah  took  little  note  of  either  the  one  or  the  other 
major-general.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  Moorcastle, 
who  stood  respectfully  behind  them.  There  was  no 
flinching  from  the  man  who  had  won  her  love,  merely 
to  insult  it  and  fling  it  away.  She  evidently  meant  to 
draw  his  attention;  and  when  he  at  last  did  look  at 
her,  she  felt  that  it  was  wonderful ;  they  were  both  be- 
witched, she  said  to  herself;  they  could  not  help  it. 

Moorcastle  showed  surprise  at  seeing  her  there,  and 
the  fixity  of  her  gaze  clearly  moved  him ;  for  though 
he  bowed  ceremoniously,  he  did  not  at  once  turn  away, 
and  his  dark  visage  flushed  a  little.  In  return  for  his 
salute  she  bent  her  pretty  neck  graciously,  and,  to  his 
bewilderment,  she  smiled.  It  was  such  a  significant 
smile,  it  had  so  much  of  invitation  and  allurement, 
that  he  could  not  help  answering  it.  Then  he  tried  to 
break  the  spell  which  was  upon  him  by  staring  about  the 
audience  and  exchanging  recognitions  with  other  ladies. 

But  after  a  minute  he  glanced  at  her  again,  drawn 
by  an  irresistible  longing  which  he  sought  to  believe 
was  mere  curiosity,  but  which  was  of  course  something 
more  emotional.  She  was  still  watching  him  with  the 
same  subtle,  provoking  smile.  A  girl  exchanging 
glances  with  an  assured  and  betrothed  lover  could  not 
have  had  a  more  confident  and  confiding  expression. 
The  fixed,  fervent  eyes  seemed  to  be  saying,  ''  Why 
don't  you  come  to  me  ?  " 

Several  persons  noticed  her  behavior,  and  became 
more  or  less  perturbed  over  it.  Brinsmade,  after  trying 
in  vain  to  regain  her  attention,  glanced  indignantly  at 
Moorcastle,  and  fell  back  in  his  chair  sorrowfully  silent. 


Theatricals  353 

Captain  Addison  whispered  to  Miss  Hesketh,  "  We 
shall  have  an  affair  of  honor  if  some  goddess  does  n't 
intervene. "  Mrs.  Loreleigh  showed  that  temper  which 
burns  under  the  superficial  amiability  of  the  spoiled 
belle,  so  Hke  the  trained  ferocity  of  an  old  professional 
soldier  under  his  exterior  of  trained  calmness  and 
obedience.  She  faced  about  in  her  chair,  and  sent 
Moorcastle  a  flash  of  anger  which  made  him  smirk 
apologetically  and  turn  his  back  upon  Huldah. 

Then  Brinsmade  recovered  heart  to  renew  his  con- 
versation with  the  girl.  He  had  a  pathetic  longing  to 
reawaken  her  interest  in  him ;  or,  more  accurately,  he 
longed  to  regain  his  own  interest  in  her;  it  was  dread- 
ful to  lose  all  that  new-born  love  and  hope.  He 
pointed  out  Mrs.  Oliver,  whom  he  did  not  know  by 
name,  for  he  was  a  fresh  arrival  in  Boston. 

**  A  fair  old  lady  over  there  opposite,"  he  said. 
**  She  seems  to  watch  you  very  amiably,  and  there  is 
really  something  of  a  family  look  between  you.  I 
thought  she  might  perhaps  have  the  pleasure  of  being 
your  aunt," 

For  the  first  time  Huldah  observed  that  faint  resem- 
blance between  herself  and  Mrs.  Oliver  which  gave  the 
venerable  gentlewoman  so  much  satisfaction.  But  to 
the  blooming  young  beauty  the  discovery  brought  only 
disgust  and  alarm.  Should  she  ever  be  thus  unwieldy, 
and  have  such  blubbery  cheeks,  and  such  a  striped  pink 
color,  and  almost  no  chin  ?  She  came  near  clapping  one 
hand  to  her  piquant  nose,  with  a  view  to  pressing  it 
down  and  making  it  aquiline,  so  that  it  should  not  re- 
mind people  of  the  old  lady's  slightly  uplifted  proboscis. 

"  Why,  that  's  Dame  Oliver,"  she  said  in  pettish 

revolt.     "  I  must  say  I  don't  see  the  likeness." 

23  / 


354  A  Lover's  Revolt 

"  Oh,  well — really  now — there  is  n't  any,"  Brinsmade 
truckled.     '  *  Only,  she  seems  so  interested  in  you 

He  leaned  back  in  his  seat  with  a  sigh,  disappointed, 
and  pained,  and  humiliated,  as  often  happens  to  loving 
souls.  Huldah  resumed  her  staring  at  Moorcastle; 
but  the  sorrowful  Major  took  no  further  notice  of  it ; 
he  was  determined  not  to  notice. 

"  Miss  Oakbridge!  "  hissed  Mrs.  Loreleigh  at  last, 
"  don't  you  propose  to  see  the  play  at  all  ?  " 

Unobserved  by  the  bewitched  Huldah,  or  at  least 
without  arousing  her  interest,  the  farce  had  begun. 
With  entire  composure,  not  even  glancing  at  the  angry 
queen  of  Bostonian  fashion,  she  turned  her  dreamy 
eyes  upon  the  stage.  There  was  the  American  army, 
represented  by  two  figures :  a  burlesque  Washington 
with  a  frowsy  wig,  a  whimsical  uniform,  and  a  bent 
sword;  behind  him,  a  rustic  in  shirt-sleeves,  flourishing 
a  rusty  gun  and  talking  through  his  nose.  The  audi- 
ence of  British  officers  and  their  native-born  bootlickers 
was  stamping  and  yelling  with  laughter.  Of  what  had 
happened  up  to  this  point  in  the  play  Huldah  had  no 
idea. 

She  turned  her  eyes  towards  Howe's  box,  but 
Moorcastle  had  suddenly  vanished,  and  the  two  gen- 
erals were  7iot  laughing.  Then,  from  near  the  door, 
the  sergeant  usher  called  in  a  long-drawn,  brazen  cry, 
"  The  enemy  are  attacking  Bunker  Hill." 

"  Oh,  capital!  "  giggled  Mrs.  Loreleigh.  "  Part  of 
the  play,  you  understand." 

So  nearly  everybody  thought,  and  there  was  another 
roar  of  amusement,  several  persons  facing  about  to 
clap  the  sergeant,  who  looked  confounded  by  the  com- 
pliment.    But  General  Howe  sprang  to  his  feet,  and 


Theatricals  355 

shouted  in  a  tone  which  pierced  the  gayety  like  a 
cannon-ball,  "  Officers,  to  your  posts!  " 

Every  military  ear  recognized  a  summons  to  pressing 
duty,  and  three  hundred  uniformed  men  rushed  for 
the  doors  with  a  noisy  trampling  of  boots  and  upsetting 
of  seats,  above  which  shrilled  the  keen  yelps  of  scared 
womankind.  Then  followed  the  citizen  exodus,  a  tur- 
bulent stampede  of  red-faced  or  pale-faced  Tories, 
tripping  over  prostrate  chairs  and  tearing  skirts  and 
flattening  cocked  hats. 

"  Will  you  step  off  me,  sir  ?  "  screamed  Mrs.  Lore- 
leigh,  turning  in  scarlet  fury  upon  corpulent  Judge 
Oliver,  who  had  planted  one  of  his  square  toes  on  her 
watered  satin.  The  old  gentleman  never  noted  who 
had  scolded  him,  being  too  busy  in  hauling  along 
panting  Mrs.  Oliver,  who  was  gasping  in  a  tearful 
treble,  "  Oh  dear!  I  knew  we  ought  not  to  be  here." 

No  one  cared  for  Huldah,  and  she  was  left  to  chance 
and  her  own  devices,  these  last  sure  to  be  none  of  the 
wisest.  She  squalled  once  or  twice  without  knowing 
it,  and  then  seeing  Moorcastle  rushing  back  to  his 
general,  she  dashed  at  him  and  tried  to  take  his  arm. 
But  the  aid-de-camp  could  not  have  stopped  just  then 
to  wait  upon  Aspasia  or  Cleopatra.  He  gave  her  a 
blank  stare,  bounded  over  a  bench  which  was  in  his 
way,  and  plunged  on  toward  Sir  William  Howe. 

Thereupon  Huldah,  uttering  another  unconscious 
yelp,  ran  after  the  outpouring  audience  and  fought  her 
way  into  the  street;  where  she  promptly  recovered 
her  habitual  dreamy  composure,  and  walked  home 
alone  as  tranquilly  as  if  it  had  been  broad  day ;  merely 
turning  once  to  look  at  a  young  man  who  had  hurried 
past  her  in  the  dim  moonlight  with  averted  face. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

*•  WHAT   BRINGS   YOU    HERE  ?  " 

THE  panic  in  Faneuil  Hall  had  been  caused  by 
Knowlton's  expedition  to  burn  what  remained 
of  Charlestown  in  order  to  prevent  the  English  from 
obtaining  fuel  there. 

During  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  Captain  Moor- 
castle  received  an  unsigned  letter  informing  him  that 
a  rebel  officer,  no  doubt  a  spy,  was  hiding  in  a  deserted 
house  on  the  corner  of  Water  Street  and  Pudding 
Lane. 

"  What  nonsense!"  he  grumbled.  "  Why  should 
Mr.  Washington  send  spies  in  here,  when  the  town 
swarms  with  fellows  aching  to  sell  him  information, 
and  Sir  William  is  turning  out  shoals  of  paupers  every 
week  or  two  ? ' ' 

After  studying  the  handwriting  for  a  minute  without 
being  able  to  recognize  it,  he  thrust  the  letter  into  one 
of  his  capacious  pockets,  and  temporarily  forgot  it. 

It  was  not  till  the  evening  of  the  following  day,  and 
then  by  the  merest  accident,  that  he  went  near  the 
house  in  question.  He  had  even  got  well  past  it  when 
an  impulse  or  caprice  moved  him  to  retrace  his  steps 
and  take  a  long  look  at  its  deserted,  poverty-stricken 
desolation.  The  windows  were  boarded  up,  and  there 
was  not  a  glimmer  about  the  building,  nor  any  other 

356 


''What  Brings  You   Here?"  357 

suggestion  of  life.  But  what  if  there  should  be  a  spy 
there  ?  he  queried ;  and,  ahhough  he  smiled  at  the 
supposition,  it  won  a  little  credence ;  he  began  to 
think,  or  to  feel,  that  it  was  his  duty  to  investigate. 

Still,  as  he  did  not  want  to  make  himself  ridiculous, 
he  would  not  order  out  a  squad  on  such  whimsical  ser- 
vice. Opening  the  side  gate,  he  stole  along  a  snow- 
less,  frozen  path,  and  peeped  around  a  rear  corner  of 
the  house.  Notwithstanding  his  care  to  avoid  making 
a  noise,  he  startled  a  man  who  stood  at  a  door,  ob- 
viously engaged  in  prying  it  open  and  breathing  loudly 
with  the  labor.  This  man,  a  soldier  and  a  house- 
breaker, gave  the  Captain  a  glare  of  affright  and  fled  at 
full  speed,  spurred  by  an  expectation  of  three  hundred 
lashes,  or  perhaps  of  a  ball  in  the  back. 

The  lock  had  been  broken,  and  the  door  was  ajar. 
Moorcastle  took  from  his  pocket  a  wax  taper  (as  a 
belated  man  does  even  now  in  many  a  city  of  conti- 
nental Europe),  and  after  a  brief  controversy  with  his 
flint  and  steel,  succeeded  in  getting  a  light. 

The  first  room  which  he  entered  was  the  kitchen,  a 
bare  and  melancholy  apartment,  the  furnishings  gone, 
the  fireplace  black  and  sour  with  fallen  soot,  and  the 
floor  sprinkled  with  dead  cockroaches.  Should  he 
push  on  and  risk  an  adventure  ?  He  was  for  duty 
that  day,  and  had  his  rapier  at  his  side.  He  gently 
opened  a  door,  stole  cautiously  up  a  stairway,  and  in 
the  same  noiseless  fashion  entered  a  bedroom. 

Something  rustled;  but  Moorcastle  slid  up  to  a 
table  and  seized  a  pistol  lying  there ;  then  he  glanced 
at  a  figure  which  had  risen  from  a  bed.  It  was 
a  tall  young  man,  his  eyes  blinking  in  the  light  of 
the  taper,  and  his  swarthy  face  still  heavy  with  sleep. 


358  A  Lover's  Revolt 

though  there  was  a  gathering  horror  in  it.  He  was 
dressed  in  shabby  citizen  costume,  and  his  black  hair 
was  scissored  close  to  his  head,  while  an  old  brown  tie- 
wig  lay  on  the  pillow. 

Moorcastle  stepped  backward,  closed  and  bolted  the 
door,  returned  to  the  table,  and,  keeping  it  between 
him  and  the  bed,  looked  fixedly  in  the  tall  youngster's 
face.  Of  a  sudden  he  hissed  out  a  string  of  oaths,  not 
speaking  aloud,  but  in  a  whisper. 

"  What  brings  you  here  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  What 
in  the  name  of  perdition  have  you  sneaked  into  this 
garrison  for  ?  I  know  you.  You  are  the  Lexington 
fellow — the  man  who  would  n't  shoot  me.  What  the 
devil  did  you  throw  yourself  in  my  way  for  here?  " 

Then  came  another  hissing  gust  of  blasphemies. 
All  Moorcastle's  arrogance  and  violence  of  temper  had 
been  roused  to  a  tempest  by  the  perplexities  of  his 
situation.  He  was  a  terrible  long  way  from  being 
courteous  and  refined  in  his  language. 

Ash  Farnlee  meanwhile  had  recovered  his  waking 
wits,  and  apparently  his  ordinary  self-possession, 
though  doubtless  his  heart  was  beating  hard  enough. 
He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  wrapped  a  ragged 
cloak  about  himself,  and  gazed  attentively  at  Moor- 
castle. 

"  Don't  you  know,"  continued  the  latter,  "  that  it 
is  my  duty  to  arrest  you  ?  You  are  a  Yankee  officer; 
you  are  here  as  a  spy.  Of  course  I  ought  to  arrest 
you.     What  a  position  I  shall  be  in  if  I  don't!  " 

"  Yes,"  returned  Ash.  "  And  what  a  position  you 
will  be  in  if  you  do !  " 

"  Oh,  I  remember  it  all,"  growled  Moorcastle. 
"  You  might  have  shot  me,  and  for  dem  good  cause, 


**What  Brings  You   Here?"  359 

perhaps.  And,  instead  of  that,  you  saved  my  Hfe. 
Demme  !  if  you  had  n't  made  me  dismount,  that  other 
fellow  would  have  scattered  my  brains.  Well,  what 
in  the  demon's  own  name  do  you  want  ?  " 

But  before  Ash  could  reply  the  Captain  broke  out  in 
another  storm  of  rage.  "  I  wonder  if  you  comprehend 
what  a  demnable  situation  you  've  got  me  into.  Here 
I  am,  an  English  officer  and  gentleman,  and  an  aid  on 
the  commandant's  retinue!  and  you  expect  me  to  let 
a  rebel  spy  run  loose,  and  carry  his  plans  and  notes  to 
the  enemy!  Why  in  perdition  does  Mr.  Washington 
send  officers  on  such  dastardly  low  business  ?  I 
thought  he  was  more  of  a  gentleman;  he  has  good 
blood  in  him.  But  demme  if  I  believe  you  provincials 
know  what  it  is  to  be  a  gentleman." 

"  I  was  not  sent,"  declared  Ash.  "  I  came  of  my 
own  choice." 

"  Oh!  wanted  to  die  for  your  cause,  I  suppose. 
Dem  your  cause!  Why  could  n't  you  die  for  your 
stupid,  hopeless,  villainous  cause  in  some  other  way  ? 
You  '11  find  chances  enough.  The  idea  of  selecting 
the  gallows,  and  picking  me  out  for  hangman !  Good 
Ged  !  a  Moorcastle  turning  informer ! — oh,  demmit !  I 
should  have  an  infernally  fine  time  looking  at  myself 
in  a  glass  after  that,  should  n't  I  ? " 

Here  the  running  wax  of  the  taper  burned  his  fingers. 
He  started,  just  as  a  man  might  start  under  ordinary 
circumstances ;  then  he  lighted  a  tallow  dip  which 
stood  in  a  tinned  candlestick  on  the  table,  blew  out 
the  taper,  and  pocketed  it;  all  this  in  the  most  natural 
manner  imaginable.  The  commonplace  episode  ap- 
peared to  tranquillize  him  completely.  He  sat  down, 
hitched  his  chair  up  to  the  table,  examined  the  lock 


360  '  A  Lover's  Revolt 

of  the  pistol  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  smiled  scorn- 
fully at  the  antique  workmanship,  and  resumed  the 
dialogue  composedly. 

"  What  have  you  learned  ?  "  he  asked,  throwing  out 
his  heavy  chin  with  an  air  of  mockery.  "  I  '11  venture 
ten  guineas  you  have  n't  got  any  more  facts  than  I 
would  have  felt  free  to  send  you  by  open  letter,  if  you 
had  made  official  request  for  them." 

Ash  smiled,  not  by  any  means  gayly,  for  the  gallows 
seemed  very  near.  "  You  appear  to  take  it  for 
granted,"  he  said,  "  that  I  am  here  as  a  spy." 

"Oh,  I  say!"  exclaimed  Moorcastle,  eagerly. 
"  Are  you  here  about  something  else  ?  There  was  a 
young  lady  in  your  history  once.  Did  you  skulk  into 
the  town  after  kerf  That  would  make  a  difference, 
you  must  perceive." 

Ash  quivered  with  agitation,  for  here  was  a  sugges- 
tion which  might  perchance  save  him  from  the  death 
of  a  spy,  and  his  first  impulse  was  to  make  a  clutch  at 
it.  In  another  instant  he  had  rejected  the  subterfuge, 
partly  because  it  could  not  avail  him  in  case  his  cloth- 
ing were  searched,  and  partly  from  a  revolt  of  honor, 
or  pride,  or  anger. 

"  Does  it  matter  what  brought  me  here  ?  "  he  said. 
"  I  am  an  American  officer  in  an  English  garrison,  in 
disguise." 

"Yes,  demmit!  and  a  cursed  lunatic  into  the  bar- 
gain," grumbled  Moorcastle. 

Ash  smiled  bitterly,  and  continued,  "As  to  that 
other  matter,  I  will  tell  you — what  I  can.  I  had 
loved  that  girl  for  years.  I  was  to  offer  myself  the 
day  I  met  you.  It  was  you — I  suppose  it  was — who 
broke  it  off." 


"What  Brings  You   Here?"  361 

Here  he  suddenly  stopped,  and  after  trying  vainly  to 
swallow  down  a  spasm  in  his  throat,  he  burst  into  a  suc- 
cession of  hoarse  gasps  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

By  Jove!  "  Moorcastle  gasped  in  sympathy,  twist- 
ing on  his  chair  as  if  he  were  in  physical  suffering. 
The  spectacle  of  a  brave  man  in  tears  touched  this 
hard  creature,  who  had  perhaps  never  yet  been  touched 
by  the  tears  of  a  woman.  "  Well,  that  settles  my 
business,"  he  presently  added  in  something  like  a 
groan,  as  if  he  were  pitying  himself  now. 

Farnlee  uncovered  his  face  and  gazed  with  a  puzzled 
air  at  his  captor. 

It  was  n't  my  fault,"  resumed  Moorcastle.  "  No- 
body told  me  there  was  anything  between  you." 

No — not  your  fault.  It  was  the  fault  of — every- 
thing; of  the  way  things  are  here." 

"  Yes,  I  see;  I  understand.  An  Englishman  takes 
the  lead,  of  course.  I  see.  It  's  demnable  hard  on  the 
provincials.  Well,  never  mind  that  now.  So  you 
came  in  here,  we  '11  admit,  to  look  up  the  young 
lady." 

"  No! — never!  "  said  Ash  with  a  scowl  of  anger,  to 
which  Moorcastle  responded  with  a  scowl  of  disap- 
pointment, though  in  the  end  he  nodded  approval. 

"  Exactly,"  he  resumed.  "  You  can't  forgive  her; 
and  you  ought  n't.  And  still  you  saved  my  life. 
Curst  if  I  don't  wish  you  were  a  brother  officer  of 
mine.  Would  you  take  a  loyalist  commission  now  ? 
I  supposed  not,"  he  growled  when  Ash  shook  his  head. 
"  But  you  leave  me  in  a  doose  of  a  strait.  By  Jove! 
if  you  had  sent  me  to  the  other  world  there  at  Lexing- 
ton, I  could  n't  have  been  in  a  much  worse  mess  now 
than  I  am.     What  in  perdition  do  you  expect  me  to 


362  A  Lover's  Revolt 

do  ?  Shove  you  out  by  the  same  hole  that  you 
sneaked  in  at  ?  " 

"  I  must  own  that  I  might  have  been  on  more 
honorable  duty,"  avowed  Farnlee  with  a  blush. 

"  Oh,  this  is  of  no  use,"  Moorcastle  groaned.  "  I 
am  just  gabbling  to  put  off  the  evil  moment.  I  know 
what  I  must  do;  I  have  got  to  smuggle  you  outside  of 
our  lines;  that  is  what  I  must  do.  But  see  here;  you 
must  n't  carry  off  any  papers;  you  comprehend  that, 
of  course.     So  stand  out  there  and  strip." 

As  there  was  no  sense  in  resistance,  Ash  rose, 
dropped  his  cloak,  and  began  to  take  off  his  coat. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  the  Englishman.  "  I  '11  trust 
your  honor.     Give  me  all  your  documents." 

Ash  thrust  his  hand  here  and  there  into  his  clothing, 
and  laid  successively  on  the  table  various  slips  of 
manuscript,  eventually  declaring,  "  That  is  all,  on  my 
word  of  honor." 

"  As  an  officer  and  gentleman  ?  "  demanded  Moor- 
castle. 

"  As  an  officer  and  gentleman." 

"  Are  those  papers  in  your  handwriting  ?  " 

"All  of  them." 

"  Resume  your  seat." 

Moorcastle  opened  the  slips  one  after  the  other, 
glanced  through  them  with  a  smile,  and  finally  laughed 
outright. 

"  What  a  blazing  idiot  you  have  made  of  yourself!  " 
he  said.  "  Why,  there  is  n't  a  cursed  thing  here  that 
you  could  n't  have  picked  up  among  every  pack  of 
poor  devils  that  we  send  outside  of  the  lines.  Curse 
me  if  you  ought  n't  to  be  hung  for  your  stupidity  in 
running  such  a  risk  for  nothing.     Well,  beg  pardon, 


**What  Brings  You    Here?"  363 

'pon  honor.  You  meant  well,  of  course;  that  is,  you 
meant  ill  to  us.  Do  you  comprehend,  by  the  way, 
that  this  is  a  cursed  queer  situation  ?  You  must  n't 
mind  my  flying  at  you.  I  am  going  to  get  the  worst 
of  the  business." 

"  You  are  doing  a  most  generous  act  if  you  mean  to 
let  me  out,"  said  Ash.  "  I  don't  know  how  I  can 
ever  repay  you,"  he  added  with  the  awkwardness  and 
embarrassment  of  virile  youth  when  placed  under  a 
great  obligation. 

**  Well,  by  gad,  I  'm  glad  you  feel  sore  over  it," 
grumbled  Moorcastle.  "It  's  the  only  revenge  I 
shall  get  on  you  for  putting  me  into  this  demnition 
box.  But,  take  notice;  you  can  save  me  something. 
Not  a  word  concerning  what  has  passed  between  us  for 
ten  years  to  come;  not  a  word  to  a  living  soul,  loyal 
or  disloyal,  not  even  to  your  military  superiors." 

The  promise  was  given  in  good  faith  and  willingly. 
Moorcastle  burned  the  manuscripts  one  by  one,  tossing 
the  blazing  fragments  into  the  fireplace.  Then  he  re- 
lighted his  taper,  blew  out  the  candle,  and  rose. 

"  Move  on  ahead  of  me,"  he  said.  "  It  won't  do 
to  leave  you  here,  for  fear  of  a  chance  arrest  by  the 
provost,  and  nobody  knows  what  devilish  hotchpotch 
as  a  consequence.  I  shall  have  to  hide  you  in  my 
quarters.  A  gentleman  may  as  well  be  hung  for  a 
sheep  as  for  a  lamb." 

Boston  was  small  in  those  days,  so  that  they  were 
soon  in  Moorcastle's  lodgings,  the  door  locked  and 
candles  lighted. 

"  Do  you  smoke  ?  "  inquired  the  host  of  his  unwel- 
come guest.  "  This  is  one  of  those  adventures  that  a 
man  wants  to  put  in  his  pipe.     What!  you  don't  use 


364  A  Lover's  Revolt 

tobacco  ?  So  your  only  vices  are  rebellion,  shooting 
the  king's  troops,  and  spying  on  the  king's  garrisons. 
I  think  you  had  better  drop  those,  and  take  to  smok- 
ing and  swearing,  as  being  more  godly." 

He  filled  a  long  clay  pipe,  threw  himself  back  in  his 
armchair,  and  puffed  thoughtfully.  "  I  should  like 
to  say  one  thing,"  he  presently  resumed.  "  Hope  the 
subject  won't  be  disagreeable  to  you.  But  I  think  I 
ought  to  mention  it.  You  can  still  have  Miss  Oak- 
bridge,  for  all  me ;  nothing  has  happened  between  her 
and  me  to  prevent." 

Farnlee  shook  his  head ;  he  could  not  talk  of  it. 

"  Exactly,"  nodded  Moorcastle,  who  had  noted  the 
gesture,  though  he  had  not  raised  his  eyes  from  his 
pipe-bowl.  "  Constitutional  revolt.  No  taxation 
without  representation." 

The  simile  was  so  unexpected  and  whimsical  that 
Farnlee  acknowledged  it  by  a  ghastly  smile. 

"And  so,"  continued  Moorcastle,  "you  went  into  this 
fight  to  make  Americans  as  good  as  Englishmen  ?  " 

"  That  was  it;  that  or  thereabouts.  Up  to  a  certain 
time  I  had  taken  little  interest  in  questions  of  politics. 
All  of  a  sudden  I  found  that  I  was  rated  as  belonging 
to  an  inferior  breed.  All  of  a  sudden  I  got  a  slap  in 
the  face  from  one  of  my  own  country-people ;  from  an 
old-time  playmate  and  worshipped  friend  ;  from  a 
woman.  She  buffeted  me  because  I  was  not  an  Eng- 
lishman, and  you  were.  Suppose  you  were  in  my  place. 
Suppose  you  were  a  provincial,  and  buffeted  for  it." 

I  should  n't  like  it.  But  note  you  this;  that  feel- 
ing of  yours  goes  a  devil  of  a  way ;  it  points  to  a  war 
for  independence.  It  's  a  deeper  question  than  the 
question  of  taxation." 


''What  Brings  You   Here?"  365 

**  You  are  right.  Nothing  will  settle  it,  I  presume, 
and  indeed  believe,  but  blood,  and  much  blood." 

"  It  's  an  ugly  outlook.  Why  not  shoot  your  own 
lickspittles,  instead  of  us  redcoats  ?  But,  of  course, 
we  could  n't  allow  that." 

**  I  think  the  war  will  last  till  they  are  got  rid  of 
somehow." 

"  I  think  we  shall  crush  you.  What  will  you  do 
then — you  personally  ?  " 

**  I  hope  not  to  live  to  see  it.  But  if  I  do,  there 
are  forests  in  the  West  and  hollow  trees  in  them.  I 
mean  never  to  consort  with  Englishmen  again  except 
upon  a  footing  of  exact  equality." 

"  We  shall  only  settle  it  by  fighting,"  said  Moor- 
castle,  shaking  his  head  gravely.  "  So  long  as  the 
two  countries  ride  together  the  mother  country  will 
ride  a-front.  Why,  demmit,  she  should ! — but  never 
mind  as  to  that.  We  might  argue  a  week,  and  only 
get  further  apart.  What  did  your  people  burn  up  the 
rag-tag  end  of  Charlestown  for  ?  " 

"  Probably  to  keep  you  from  getting  fire-wood 
there." 

*'  Nonsense!  We  can  burn  half  of  Boston  without 
hurting  a  good  subject.  You  did  it  to  make  a  show 
of  confidence,  and  conceal  your  weakness.  Your  army 
numbers  less  than  fourteen  thousand,  total." 

"  You  had  best  not  rely  upon  that  guess,  Captain." 

Moorcastle  drew  a  paper  from  his  vest  pocket,  and 
said  with  a  smile  of  mockery:  "  Here  is  Mr.  Washing- 
ton's return  of  the  eighth  January,  a  week  ago  :  thirteen 
thousand  five  hundred  and  nine,  total.  He  counts  at 
this  moment  less  than  twelve  thousand  effectives.  We 
can  afford  to  wait  till  his  rabble  disperses  altogether. 


366  A  Lover's  Revolt 

So  you  see  that  we  also  have  our  spies,"  he  continued, 
laughing  outright  at  Farnlee's  expression  of  amazement 
and  chagrin.  "  I  don' t  lurk  around  your  quarters  myself. 
I  can  find  more  suitable  persons  for  that  business." 

Ash,  of  course,  had  not  a  suspicion  that  Benjamin 
Church,  a  leading  member  of  the  Massachusetts  Legis- 
lature, was  supplying  the  British  commander  with  in- 
formation. "  I  was  aware,"  he  replied,  sulkily,  *'  that 
you  had  deserters  from  us. " 

"  Yes,  hundreds,"  said  Moorcastle,  pleased  to  keep 
him  on  a  false  trail.  "  All  your  Irishmen  will  get  over 
here,  if  you  don't  camp  farther  away.  The  poor 
Teagues  seem  to  be  crazy  to  hear  their  own  lingo 
again ;  and  certainly  they  can  hear  enough  of  it  in 
Boston;  crowds  of  our  fellows  are  Irish." 

He  finished  his  pipe,  knocked  out  the  ashes,  and 
continued:  "  In  the  morning  I  shall  clap  you  into  a 
gang  to  be  landed  at  Chelsea.  Lock  yourself  in  here 
and  go  to  sleep.     I  have  a  grand  round  to  make." 

We  need  not  follow  Ash  through  the  troubled  doz- 
ings  and  anxious  waitings  of  his  remaining  hours  in 
Boston.  Late  in  the  following  forenoon,  after  a  chill- 
ing voyage  in  an  open  rowboat,  he  reached  Chelsea  in 
company  with  twenty  other  tatterdemalions,  all  of 
them  shivering  and  hungry,  though  not  all  thirsty. 
Nor  need  we  relate  in  full  his  interview  with  Brigadier- 
General  Horatio  Gates,  the  Adjutant-General  of  the 
Continental  Army.  He  had  been  deported  as  a  sus- 
picious vagrant,  he  explained,  and  had  not  been  able 
to  bring  away  his  notes,  but  could  give  certain  facts 
from  memory,  only  they  seemed  to  be  already  known. 

Gates,  a  handsome,  Roman-nosed  gentleman  of  forty- 
eight,  bowed  and  bowed  over  the  narrative  with  his 


**What  Brings  You  Here?"  367 

habitual  courtesy.  He  sympathized  with  the  Captain's 
disappointment;  but  the  Captain  had  risked  his  Hfe  in 
the  performance  of  a  responsible  and  difficult  duty  ;  the 
Captain  should  be  mentioned  favorably  to  his  Excel- 
lency. 

Captain  Moorcastle,  who  had  just  done  the  most 
generous  deed  of  his  life,  had  no  such  consolations 
and  approbations.  He  had  paid  a  personal  debt  of 
honor;  but  at  what  a  cost  to  his  official  honor! 

"  By  Jove,  I  ought  to  be  hung  for  a  traitor,"  he 
thought.  "  And,  by  Jove,  who  can  say  but  what  I 
will  be  ?  " 

But  he  knew  what  to  do  about  it ;  he  was  going  to 
punish  himself.  He  wrote  a  letter  of  resignation,  and 
took  it  in  person  to  Sir  William  Howe. 

"  Want  to  sell  out  ?  "  demanded  the  General,  after 
he  had  stuck  out  his  lips  and  scowled  and  stared. 
"  What  's  that  for,  Moorcastle  ?  Don't  you  know 
that  you  have  a  splendid  future  before  you  in  the 
army  ?     I  won't  approve  the  application." 

'*  It  is  a  personal  affair.  General,  of  extreme  urgency. 
I  beg  you  to  believe  that  I  am  positively  required  and 
obliged  to  quit  the  service." 

There  was  some  further  dialogue,  but  the  resignation 
was  endorsed,  and  leave  granted. 

"  A  career  gone  for  a  woman!  and  a  provincial  at 
that!  "  Moorcastle  grumbled  as  soon  as  he  was  alone. 
"  How  many  more  messes  will  the  jilts  get  me  into  ? " 

Yet  before  the  week  had  ended  he  was  at  his  gallan- 
tries again.  There  are  men  whose  lives  are  ruled  by 
the  impulses  of  temperament,  as  a  St.  Vitus  patient  is 
jerked  hither  and  thither  by  his  malady. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

huldah's  admirers 

DID  Huldah  write  the  anonymous  letter  which  re- 
vealed Farnlee's  hiding-place  to  Moorcastle  ? 

If  she  did,  we  need  not  judge  her  for  it,  nor  even 
suppose  that  she  had  a  definite  motive.  As  a  moral 
agent  she  was  at  this  time  hardly  more  reliable  or  re- 
sponsible than  a  soap-bubble  flung  upon  the  breeze. 

Meantime  she  was  much  interested  in  her  mysterious 
suitor,  the  officer  enveloped  to  his  eyes  in  a  cloak,  who 
rushed  out  upon  her  from  alleys,  and  declared  his  pas- 
sion and  vanished.  She  had  got  over  her  first  shyness 
concerning  the  subject,  and  willingly  related  her  whim- 
sical adventures  to  her  mother,  prattling  with  a  curious 
glibness  and  sometimes  laughing  heartily. 

**  Oh,  you  would  laugh  yourself,"  she  said.  "  You 
ought  to  see  him  whisk  when  he  hears  anybody  coming. 
I  've  got  pretty  well  used  to  him  now.  I  tell  him  the 
same  thing  every  time;  I  tell  him  to  go  to  my  father; 
and  then  he  mopes  off.  I  begin  to  think  (he  is  so  very 
careful  to  keep  his  face  covered)  that  he  must  be  an 
officer  of  high  rank.  Mother,  I  suppose  you  won't 
believe  me;  I  suppose  you  '11  say  it  's  some  of  my 
ridiculous  conceit  of  myself;  but  I  do  suspect  it  is 
General  Burgoyne." 

Mrs.    Oakbridge  stared  in  amazement,   but  not  in 

368 


Huldah's  Admirers  369 

complete  incredulity.  She  did  not  know  whether 
Burgoyne  was  married  or  single,  nor  whether  he  had  a 
good  repute  or  an  evil  one,  except  that  he  wrote  plays 
and  encouraged  acting,  which  was,  of  course,  a  bad 
sign.  Nor  did  she  pause  to  consider  how  unlikely  it 
was  that  a  major-general  would  cut  up  such  pranks  as 
Huldah  had  described.  What  did  the  worthy  woman 
know  of  major-generals  and  their  ways  ? 

Huldah  was  certainly  very  handsome ;  even  a  puritan 
mother  could  not  help  seeing  that  and  having  her  head 
a  little  turned  thereby;  it  seemed  to  her  at  times  that 
the  girl  was  handsome  enough  to  make  a  fool  of  any- 
body. But  whether  this  unknown  lover  was  General 
Burgoyne  or  not,  it  was  time  to  take  some  serious 
measures  in  regard  to  him.  So  she  went  to  her  hus- 
band, and  put  it  to  him  that  it  was  his  duty  to  do — 
whatever  he  thought  best. 

"  Well,  what  is  best  ?  "  demanded  Oakbridge, 
crossly. 

**  Why  not  go  to  the  Provost  ?  It  is  his  business  to 
keep  the  garrison  in  order." 

"  And  tell  him  it  's  General  Burgoyne  ?    I  dast  n't." 

"  No,  not  tell  him  that;  tell  him  it  's  an  officer." 

Jehiel  wanted  his  wife  to  go  with  him,  but  mustered 
the  pluck  to  go  alone.  The  Provost  was  a  little  mar- 
tinet of  a  major  with  leathery  cheeks  and  sharp  eyes 
and  an  eagle  beak,  who  looked  fierce  enough  to  order 
that  the  whole  universe  should  have  a  thousand  lashes. 
Nevertheless,  he  did  his  disciplined  best  to  be  urbane 
to  a  solid  citizen  who  had  been  of  service  to  the  garri- 
son. 

**  An  officer  ?  "  he  queried  in  a  high,  rasping  voice. 
"  He  must  be  crazy,  sir,     I  don't  believe  we  have  any 

84 


370  A  Lovers  Revolt 

crazy  officers.  However,  he  may  be  drunk;  that  *s 
possible.  Well,  sir,  I  '11  secure  him,  by  gad,  a  private 
interview  with  his  Excellency." 

Oakbridge  took  his  departure  in  a  grievous  fright, 
lest  Huldah's  persecutor  should  really  prove  to  be 
General  Burgoyne.  What  would  happen  to  a  Bosto- 
nian,  a  mere  provincial  by  birth  and  residence,  who 
should  make  trouble  for  a  Britannic  major-general  ? 

Three  days  later  he  was  sent  for  to  the  Provost's 
office.  He  went  thither  in  trembling  haste,  expecting 
to  be  confronted  with  some  haughty,  epauletted  Lo- 
thario, who  would  perhaps  curse  him  and  give  him  a 
caning. 

"  Well,  sir,  we  can't  light  upon  your  rogue,"  said 
the  major.  "  Does  he  continue  to  persecute  the 
young  lady  ?  " 

**  Every  time  she  goes  out,"  affirmed  Oakbridge. 
"  Yesterday  and  day  before  yesterday.  Why,  she 
came  home  yesterday  with  her  wrist  pinched  black  and 
blue." 

The  Provost  tinkled  a  little  bell  which  stood  on  his 
writing-table.  A  strongly  built  man  in  citizen  costume 
entered,  saluted  in  the  sharp  style  of  an  old  soldier, 
and  stood  at  attention. 

"  Sergeant,"  demanded  the  Provost,  "  are  you  sure 
that  you  know  this  gentleman's  daughter  by  sight  ?  " 

The  sergeant  said  yes;  he  described  Oakbridge's 
house  and  store;  he  described  Huldah  minutely,  in- 
cluding her  costume. 

Did  you  shadow  her  yesterday  and  day  before 
yesterday  ?  And  did  any  one  annoy  her  in  any 
fashion  ?  " 

The  sergeant  told  quite  a  long  story— he  had  seen 


Huldah's  Admirers  371 

Miss  Oakbridge  go  out  on  both  the  days  in  question ; 
he  and  Private  Tomson  had  followed  her  every  turning 
until  she  got  home  again ;  she  had  talked  with  ladies, 
entered  shops,  lingered  around  headquarters,  and 
watched  a  review  on  the  Common ;  but  she  certainly 
had  not  been  addressed  by  any  man  in  a  cloak  or  in  a 
uniform. 

The  official  hand  waved  magisterially,  and  with 
another  stiff  salute  the  sergeant  stiffly  retired,  much  as 
if  he  were  a  clockwork  automaton. 

"  Now,  sir,  you  may  rely  upon  that  report,"  said 
the  Provost.  "  The  sergeant  is  a  good  detective,  and 
I  confide  in  his  good  faith  and  thoroughness.  Excuse 
me  if  I  make  a  bold  suggestion.  Consult  a  doctor  as 
to  this  affair.  Young  ladies  sometimes  imagine  such 
adventures." 

Oakbridge,  thoroughly  confounded  and  distressed, 
began  to  stammer  a  medley  of  thanks  and  apologies. 
But  there  had  been  as  much  time  granted  to  his  family 
tragedy  as  official  business  could  spare.  The  Provost 
bowed ;  the  pitiless  little  bell  tinkled  again ;  another 
human  creature,  with  his  griefs,  or  his  criminalities, 
was  ushered  in ;  and  the  sorrowing  father  wandered 
pensively  back  to  his  troubled  home. 

"  I  feared  it  was  so,"  groaned  Mrs.  Oakbridge,  when 
she  had  heard  the  tale.  "  I  feared  she  must  be  lying; 
only  I  could  not  endure  to  believe  it.  We  must  have 
our  minister  here." 

Call    Doctor   Lloyd,"   said    Oakbridge,  who  had 
been  deeply  impressed  by  the  Provost  and  his  little  bell. 

The  doctor,  when  he  came,  spent  little  time  in 
listening  to  the  case,  and  asked  but  few  questions.  At 
last  he  hitched  his  chair  close  up  to  Mrs.  Oakbridge, 


372  A  Lovers  Revolt 

and  mumbled  something  in  her  ear  which  made  her 
cringe  and  turn  white.  Then  he  departed,  pocketing 
his  half-dollar  with  an  air  of  having  well  earned  it,  as 
indeed  he  had. 

Not  more  than  ten  minutes  later  there  was  a  consul- 
tation between  two  of  Huldah's  most  loving  friends, 
her  mother  and  her  sister-in-law. 

"  Let  me  talk  to  her,  mem,"  urged  Sister  Ann. 
"  She  don't  hearken  to  nobody  as  she  do  to  me,  not 
even  to  you,  mem,  wrong  though  it  be.  I  '11  tell  her 
plain  she  's  got  to  have  done  with  her  flumry  and  non- 
sinse,  and  take  Mr.  Eastwold  as  quick  as  ever  he  '11  say 
the  word.  It  's  all  just  nothink  but  that  mis'able 
Capting  Moorksle  a-buzzing  in  her  head,  poor  thing. 
Once  she  's  merried  to  Eastwold,  the  whole  fuss  will 
be  over;  and  she  '11  be  ever  so  good  a  wife  to  him; 
and  lots  too  good,  for  that  matter." 

Here  the  stalwart  creature  shed  a  tear  or  two  over 
the  final  vanishing  of  her  dream  as  to  a  coronet  for  her 
sister-in-law. 

To  everybody's  surprise  Huldah  made  no  objection 
to  the  proposal  that  she  should  take  up  with  Eastwold. 
She  had  always  liked  him,  she  glibly  told  Ann;  she 
wondered  how  she  could  ever  have  thought  of  refusing 
him;  if  he  would  say  boo  to  her  again,  she  would  n't 
be  a  goose. 

Ann  was  just  purring  to  herself  over  the  sensible 
quality  of  this  talk  when  the  freaky  child  added,  "  But 
what  will  my  general  say  ?  What  about  the  poor  man 
in  the  cloak  ?  " 

Oh,  flumry!"  exclaimed  the  indignant  English- 
woman. "  I  wonder  how  ever  you  had  the  face  to  tell 
us  that  pack  of  lies." 


Huldah's  Admirers  373 

This  vigorous  treatment  seemed  to  be  just  what  the 
case  required ;  the  girl  looked  thoroughly  sheepish, 
and  uttered  not  a  word  in  defence  of  her  fable. 

**  You  richly  deserve  a  good  leathering,"  continued 
Ann,  with  the  fervor  of  righteousness.  "  And  if  you 
get  up  any  more  mysteries,  or  if  you  try  to  crawl  out 
of  the  merridge  after  the  w^ord  is  spoke,  I  hope  to  the 
gracious  Father  Oakbridge  will  give  you  one." 

Leaving  Huldah  daunted  and  silenced,  the  energetic 
creature  strode  off  to  consult  with  Mrs.  Loreleigh  as  to 
the  Eastwold  project,  trusting  that  the  belle  and  toast 
of  loyal  Boston  could  send  the  young  gentlemen  of  the 
garrison  about  their  social  and  sentimental  duties. 

Mrs.  Loreleigh,  experienced  and  reckless  flirt  though 
she  was,  listened  to  the  tale  of  Huldah's  mental  be- 
wilderments with  throbbing  compassion,  so  surely  will 
a  tragedy  of  the  heart  enlist  the  sympathy  of  womanly 
nature,  however  perverted  by  coquetries.  Ann  nar- 
rated all  the  particulars  of  the  case  with  true  British 
straightforwardness  of  diction  and  feeling.  Mrs.  Lore- 
leigh reddened  from  chin  to  forehead  as  she  listened ; 
but  the  blush  did  not  spring  from  startled  spiritual 
delicacy.  She  had  a  strange  medley  of  emotions; 
among  other  things,  she  half  envied  the  girl ;  here  was 
a  fervor  of  feeling  which  was  worth  living  for.  She 
herself  had  never  yet  gone  cracked  over  a  man ;  and 
she  actually  wished  that  she  knew  how  it  felt. 

All  the  same,  it  w^as  a  pitiable  affair.  The  Captain 
had  behaved  most  selfishly  and  wrought  great  misery ; 
and  she  could  not  help  feeling  that  he  ought  to  be 
punished  for  it.  Yet  to  herself  he  had  always  been 
nice,  and  of  late  quite  markedly  attentive,  so  that  she 
had  begun  to  like  him  not  a  Httle.      It  was  rather  a 


374  A  Lovers  Revolt 

shock  to  hear  him  exposed  and  denounced  after  the 
plain,  blunt  fashion  of  this  fervid  daughter  of  Highgate. 
She  listened  to  the  storm  of  honest  Cockney  invective 
with  a  sensation  that  it  was  rather  too  personal;  but 
in  the  end  the  better  part  of  her  womanhood  triumphed, 
and  her  temper  revolted  hotly  against  Moorcastle. 

"  It  is  abominable,"  she  said,  biting  her  lips  nerv- 
ously, as  she  frequently  did  when  angry.  "  He  has 
no  business  to  divert  himself  with  driving  decent  girls 
crazy.  I  '11  tell  him  what  I  think  of  his  behavior. 
You  may  trust  me  for  that." 

"  But  about  Mr.  Eastwold  ?  "  queried  Ann,  who  even 
in  her  wrath  and  mourning  did  not  forget  business. 

"  Oh,  you  may  feel  sure  of  him.  When  a  man 
comes  back  twice  he  '11  come  back  thrice,  if  he  's 
whistled  to.  I  '11  send  him  around  to  you.  Only  you 
must  keep  your  sister  up  to  the  notion  of  him ;  you 
must  n't  leave  off  watching  her  a  minute.  When  a 
girl  gets  into  that  love-cracked  state  she  needs  looking 
to,  I  suppose;  does  n't  she  ?  " 

Mrs.  Loreleigh  wanted  to  know,  at  least  by  hearsay 
(though  preferably  by  experiment),  all  the  mysteries  of 
the  tender  passion. 

I  '11  hold  her  by  the  bits,"  promised  Ann,  and 
went  away  comforted.  How  poor  Eastwold  was  to 
fare  with  a  flighty  wife  on  his  hands  she  did  not  con- 
sider for  a  moment,  nor  did  any  other  feminine  partisan 
of  Huldah's,  not  even  conscientious  Mrs.  Oakbridge, 
senior. 

Mrs.  Loreleigh  remained  alone,  walking  up  and  down 
like  an  agitated  man,  and  biting  her  lips  until  they 
were  sore.  Much  as  she  pitied  Huldah,  and  by  mo- 
ments envied  her,  she  was  thinking  chiefly  of  Moor- 


Huldah's  Admirers  375 

castle.  He  was  to  call  on  her  that  afternoon,  and  she 
had  looked  forward  to  his  coming  with  agreeable  ex- 
citement, getting  herself  up  for  the  interview  in  her 
iloveliest  fashion.  But  now,  for  the  moment,  she 
[wanted  to  make  him  "  feel  bad  " ;  in  fact  it  seemed  to 
her  that  she  longed  to  box  his  right  honorable  ears. 
By  times,  to  be  sure,  she  was  surprised  at  her  emotions, 
for  never  before  had  she  been  so  angry  with  an  admirer. 
I  must  be  ill,"  she  said  to  herself;  "  something 
must  be  the  matter  with  me." 

Well  might  she  be  astonished  at  finding  herself 
wrathful  against  a  man  because  he  had  jilted  another 
pretty  woman.  But  she  was  unmistakably  wrathful 
against  this  coming  man ;  she  was  as  nervously  eager 
to  plague  him  as  if  he  had  been  her  ownty-doanty  hus- 
band. 

Moorcastle  was  approaching  the  house  in  one  of 
those  vacillating  moods  which  precede  wrong-doing 
much  oftener  than  does  a  positive  evil  purpose.  He 
had  not  decided  to  break  the  decalogue,  but  he  was 
distinctly  ready  to  yield  to  temptation.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  something  was  due  him  from  somebody.  He 
had  done  a  good  deed,  and  was  suffering  for  it ;  he  was 
(to  speak  loosely)  a  martyr  to  holiness;  Heaven  owed 
him  a  stroke  of  luck.  So  he  was  prepared,  not  indeed 
to  push  Mrs.  Loreleigh  into  an  elopement,  but  to  take 
her  along  with  him  if  she  were  inclined  to  go. 

Meantime,  somewhat  to  his  annoyance,  she  was  oc- 
casionally crowded  out  of  his  thoughts  by  another 
figure,  the  accusing  figure  of  Huldah.  The  Provost 
had  told  him  of  Miss  Oakbridge's  imaginary  lover,  and 
had  been  disagreeable  enough  to  chuckle,  "  We  sup- 
posed, of  course,  it  was  you,  Moorcastle." 


376  A  Lover's  Revolt 

Well,  so  it  was,  in  a  manner;  it  was  he  who  had 
hunted  her  under  a  cloak  of  false  pretexts;  it  was  he 
who  had  been  a  delusion  to  her  and  a  terror  to  those 
who  loved  her. 

"  Pshaw!  colonial  girls  must  look  out  for  them- 
selves, ' '  he  muttered.  '  *  What  better  could  she  expect 
from  an  English  gentleman  ?  "  he  added  in  further  self- 
justification,  meaning  gentilhonwie. 

He  began  his  interview  with  Mrs.  Loreleigh  by 
squeezing  her  hand  as  he  said  good-day.  She  perfectly 
understood  the  pressure  as  a  continuation  of  their  last 
previous  conversation,  and  as  a  prelude  to  suggestions 
whose  nature  she  could  divine  from  his  flushed  face 
and  turbid  eyes.  She  drew  her  hand  away,  stepped 
back  a  pace,  and  stood  looking  at  him  without  asking 
him  to  sit. 

"  You  have  called  to  bid  good-bye,  I  suppose,"  she 
said,  and  bit  her  lip  to  keep  it  from  trembling. 

"  You  knew,  then — "  he  stammered,  conscious  that 
her  manner  was  unfriendly,  though  he  could  not  guess 
why.     "  Yes,  I  was  about  to  leave  Boston.      But " 

"  Well,  it  is  time,"  she  broke  out  passionately,  as 
even  fine  ladies  did  break  out  in  the  elder  days. 
**  You  have  driven  one  Boston  girl  cracked.  It  's  time 
you  went.  I  don't  mind  your  saying  all  sorts  of  things 
to  married  women ;  they  can  take  care  of  themselves. 
But  even  a  British  ofificer  and  nobleman  ought  not  to 
trifle  with  young  girls  of  decent  families." 

There  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  turn  pale, 
and  make  a  ceremonious  bow,  and  leave  the  room 
without  a  word. 

Mrs.  Loreleigh  stood  alone,  breathing  hard  through 
her  fine  distended  nostrils,  and  showing  the  gleaming 


Huldah's  Admirers  '^']^ 

edges  of  her  small  teeth  between  her  quivering  lips. 
She  looked  exactly  as  a  fair  lady  ought  to  look  who 
has  just  put  a  dirk  through  the  tough  heart  of  an  un- 
scrupulous woman-hunter. 

Five  minutes  later  she  was  sorry  that  she  had  spoken 
so  violently ;  half  an  hour  later  she  would  have  been 
glad  to  grant  Moorcastle  a  scene  of  reconciliation ;  but 
they  two  never  met  again  in  the  game  of  coquetry. 
That  evening  he  had  his  luggage  packed,  and  the  next 
day  he  sailed  for  England. 

Huldah  received  the  news  of  his  departure  in  a  per- 
fectly sane  fashion ;  that  is,  she  shut  herself  into  her 
room  and  cried  all  the  afternoon. 

But  by  evening  she  was  in  her  dreamy  mood  again, 
her  eyes  settled  tenderly  on  some  invisible  object,  pre- 
sumably an  imaginary  adorer.  Out  of  this  revery  she 
was  startled  by  a  summons  to  receive  Lieutenant  East- 
wold  in  the  parlor.  She  tripped  in  gayly,  listened  with 
a  yearning  smile  to  his  renewed  offer  of  marriage, 
threw  herself  impulsively  against  his  beating  heart, 
assured  him  that  she  had  always  loved  him,  clung  to 
him  while  he  stayed,  and  wept  when  he  left.  Prob- 
ably there  was  not  a  happier  fellow  that  night  in  Bos- 
ton than  honest,  fervent  Eastwold,  riding  grand  rounds 
through  the  mud  and  slush  of  a  January  thaw,  and 
facing  the  sour  east  wind  charged  with  melting  snow. 
If  any  other  creatures  were  as  rejoiced  as  he,  they  must 
have  been  the  girl's  father  and  mother. 

So  much  the  greater  was  the  surprise  and  grief  in 
the  Oakbridge  dwelling  when  it  became  clear  during 
the  next  day  that  Huldah  had  disappeared. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII 

A   SEARCH   FOR   MOORCASTLE 

HULDAH  had  simply  stolen  out  of  the  back  door 
of  the  house  and  wandered  away  through  the 
semi-solitude  of  desolate  Boston. 

She  was  dressed  in  her  finest  raiment,  a  habit  with 
her  of  late  except  when  her  mother  checked  her  vanity, 
for  her  father,  like  a  true  male,  seldom  noted  whether 
she  had  on  one  thing  or  another. 

Yet  it  was  not  a  day  to  tempt  a  young  lady  abroad 
for  mere  parade.  The  unpaved  sidewalk  was  pasty 
with  mud,  and  the  unpaved  roadway  sloppy  with  pud- 
dles. A  gray  mist,  the  ghost  of  the  vanishing  snow, 
irritating  to  the  lungs  and  the  nerves,  veiled  the  out- 
lines of  the  houses  and  covered  the  harbor.  Few 
people  were  out  in  the  January  thaw  besides  soldiers, 
laborers,  and  beggars. 

The  soldiers  looked  fine  to  the  girl,  and  in  truth  they 
were  fine.  Ever  since  fuel  had  arrived  by  sea,  and  the 
demolition  of  buildings  had  therefore  ceased,  Sir  Will- 
iam Howe  had  been  toiling  like  a  giant  to  bring  the 
garrison  back  to  neatness.  "  The  men  lately  engaged 
in  the  working  parties, ' '  he  ordered,  *  *  must  be  immedi- 
ately made  as  clean  and  decent  as  possible."  And 
again,  "  The  commanding  officer  is  surprised  to  find 
the  necessity  of  repeating  orders  that  ought  long  since 

378 


A  Search  for  Moorcastle  379 

to  have  been  compHed  with."  Then  followed  a 
solemnizing  catalogue  of  military  offences  in  the  way 
of  costume.  "  These  unsoldier-like  neglects,"  he  con- 
cluded, "  must  be  immediately  remedied." 

Accordingly  the  redcoats  who  passed  Huldah  in  the 
fog  were  as  sweet  to  look  at  as  pinks.  The  enlisted^ 
men  had  their  leather  stocks  on;  the  edges  of  their 
cocked  hats  were  trimly  bound ;  the  hair  was  smooth 
well  powdered,  and  neatly  clubbed;  the  shirts  were 
clean  and  nicely  frilled  at  the  wrists;  the  breeches 
were  snug  about  the  knees;  the  buttons  shone  like 
stars.  Nothing  human  could  well  be  daintier  than  the 
marines,  with  their  closely  fitted  half-gaiters,  and  their 
rosettes  in  front  of  their  hats.  The  of^cers  all  had 
quarter-leggings,  or  else  long  boots;  and  those  on 
duty  wore  their  crimson  sashes  under  their  sword- 
belts. 

Huldah  glanced  at  each  and  every  one  of  these  scar- 
let dandies  who  strutted  past  her.  Her  gaze  was  so 
fixed  and  bold,  yet  so  dreamy  and  strange,  that  many 
a  one,  even  of  the  common  soldiers,  looked  back  at  her 
over  his  shoulder  and  then  moved  on  hesitatingly,  as 
if  he  were  bewitched  in  body  and  mind.  But  it  was 
open  day,  and  the  terror  of  the  grim  Provost  was 
abroad,  so  that  neither  ofificer  nor  man  addressed  her. 
Under  the  aegis  of  discipline,  edged  about  with  the 
gory  tails  of  the  pitiless  cat,  she  walked  as  safely  be- 
side grenadiers  and  tarpaulins  as  if  she  were  among  the 
shining  ones  of  Paradise. 

She  was  longing  all  the  while  after  Moorcastle.  She 
had  stolen  money  from  her  father's  strong  box  to  pay 
her  passage  to  England, whither  her  false  lover  (dearest 
of  all  lovers  always)  had  fled,  or  rather  had  been  borne. 


380  A  Lover's  Revolt 

For  to  her  flighty  perceptions  he  was  not  false;  he 
had  quitted  her  through  some  mysterious  stress  of  evil 
fortune;  he  was  impatiently  awaiting  her  coming.  The 
transport  Belfast  was  to  sail  that  day,  and  she  meant 
to  get  aboard  of  it  and  follow  him  to  England. 

It  was  delightful  to  think  of  the  voyage,  though  she 
had  to  struggle  to  keep  her  mind  on  it,  for  the  most 
trivial  things  distracted  her  attention.  Over  and  over 
she  pictured  the  meeting  with  her  darling;  sometimes 
in  a  monstrous  gray  castle  amid  his  high-born  relatives ; 
sometimes  alone  under  solemn  oaks  through  which  fell 
glimmers  of  moonlight ;  then  here,  and  then  there,  till 
the  changes  wearied  her  not  a  little;  smiling  all  the 
while  as  she  tramped  through  the  muddy  snow. 

A  few  minutes  of  walking  brought  her  to  Went- 
worth's  Wharf,  where  the  Belfast  was  taking  on  her 
final  belated  passengers.  The  forward  bulwark  was 
lined  with  faces,  nearly  all  pallid,  haggard,  solemn, 
patient,  the  faces  of  invalid  soldiers.  On  the  quarter- 
deck stood  a  one-armed  lieutenant,  who  looked  puzzled 
when  Huldah  smiled  upon  him,  but  lifted  his  hat  with 
ceremonious  courtesy  in  reply.  Sailors  aloft  were 
loosening  the  weather-stained  hempen  canvas  of  the 
main-  and  topsails.  The  black  shrouds  and  the  greasy 
masts  were  trickling  with  the  dew  deposited  by  the 
ghostly  fog.  A  southwest  wind,  heavily  laden  with 
chilly  moisture,  promised  just  breeze  enough  to  send 
the  ship  out  of  the  harbor. 

At  the  foot  of  the  gangway  plank  stood  a  sentry  in 
his  red  coat,  a  ship's  officer  with  a  cockade  on  the 
front  of  his  cap,  and  two  burly  sailors  in  their  sea- 
going raggery.  Huldah  went  composedly  up  to  the 
group,  and  set  her  little  foot  on  the  slimy  plank. 


A  Search  for  Moorcastle  381 

"  Beg  pard'n,  mem,"  said  the  mate.  "  Show  your 
order,  if  you  please." 

But  I  have  money  to  pay  my  passage,"  the  girl 
returned,  producing  her  wallet. 

Beg  pard'n,  mem.     We  must  have  an  order  from 
headquarters.     Gov'm'nt  transport,  mem." 

But  I  am  an  officer's  wife,"  Huldah  asserted  with 
spirit. 

The  mate  stared  at  her,  and  then  glanced  at  the 
sentry,  as  if  for  information  and  advice.  *'  Beg  pard'n, 
mem,"  he  said  at  last.  **  Would  n't  dare  take  on  a 
body  without  an  order.  Excuse  me,  mem ;  please 
stand  aside  a  bit;  passenger  wants  to  go  aboard." 

Huldah  made  way  for  a  one-legged  soldier,  who  was 
gently  helped  up  the  plank  by  the  two  sailors,  one  of 
whom  muttered  with  a  tobacco-stained  grin,  "  Johnny, 
they  did  n't  hit  yer  for  fun." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  hoarsely  bellowed  a  square-built 
man  who  was  leaning  over  the  quarter-deck  rail. 

The  mate  glanced  at  a  list  which  he  held  in  his  hand, 
scored  a  name  with  a  broken  thumb-nail,  and  bellowed 
back,  "  All  told,  sir." 

"  Then  cast  off  and  tumble  aboard,"  ordered  the 
captain,  lifting  his  broad,  brown  face  toward  his  upper 
canvas  and  whistling  softly  for  a  v/ind — just  a  little 
more,  and  from  the  same  quarter. 

Huldah  seemed  to  comprehend  that  she  was  not  to 
sail  in  the  Belfast.  She  nodded  a  smiling  farewell  to 
the  wounded  lieutenant,  who  answered  with  another 
stare  of  surprise  and  another  elaborate  bow.  Then  she 
faced  about,  laid  one  hand  familiarly  on  the  arm  of  a 
pug-nosed  man  who  wore  the  white  cockade  of  the 
Loyal  Irish  Volunteers,  and  said  with  a  coaxing  pout 


382  A  Lover's  Revolt 

of  her  rosy  lips,  "  Please  tell  me  how  to  get  out  of 
Boston." 

The  man  grinned  in  perplexity,  scratched  his  head 
with  one  thick  finger,  and  replied  in  a  Gaelic  yell, 
"  It  *s  Hudson's  Point  ye  '11  have  to  find,  me  leddy. 
They  's  boats  from  there  ivery  day." 

He  meant,  of  course,  the  ferry-boats  to  Charlestown, 
which  everybody  in  the  city  knew  about.  But  Huldah 
was  quite  satisfied  with  the  direction ;  she  thanked  him 
with  a  giggle,  and  set  off  eagerly  for  Hudson's  Point. 
Nothing  befell  her  on  the  way  excepting  that  she 
soaked  her  foot-gear  through,  and  daubed  her  skirts 
with  mud.  The  search  for  her  had  not  commenced. 
Eastwold  was  at  this  very  time  hastening  toward  her 
home  to  ask  for  one  more  assurance  of  that  love  which 
he  had  found  so  difficult  to  win,  and  which  still  seemed 
to  him  so  incredible  a  prize. 

It  so  happened  that  General  Howe  was  that  day 
sending  to  the  mainland  a  gang  of  his  pauperized  Bos- 
tonians.  There  were  several  whale-boats  at  the  Ferry 
Way,  partially  filled  already  with  miserable  creatures 
and  their  scanty  packs  of  luggage,  while  other  miser- 
able creatures  were  unsteadily  trampling  into  them, 
struggling  for  seats,  quarrelling,  squalling,  swearing. 
Huldah  joined  the  migrating  swarm  without  hesitation, 
and  scuffled  her  way  into  one  of  the  boats,  where  acci- 
dent gave  her  a  seat. 

The  people  nearest  her  were  a  family :  three  gaunt 
women,  two  slab-sided  youngsters,  and  a  toothless, 
red-nosed  grandsire;  all  looking  as  people  naturally 
might  who  had  sold  their  last  bed  and  devoured  their 
last  crust;  all  tattered,  lean,  pallid,  slavish,  wolfish, 
vicious.     It   was   evident    from    the  lank  fall  of  the 


A  Search  for  Moorcastle  383 

women's  skirts  about  their  thighs  that  they  had  little 
or  no  underclothing.  The  bony  youngsters  doubled 
up  on  the  floor  of  the  boat,  and  pressed  their  crossed 
arms  into  their  midriffs,  as  if  to  stifle  hunger.  The 
youngest  woman,  a  ghastly  girl  of  sixteen  or  seventeen, 
leaned  her  back  against  the  knee  of  an  oarsman,  turned 
her  face  up  to  his  with  a  cheeky  leer,  and  slyly  accepted 
from  him  a  sea-biscuit.  The  old  man  chewed  his 
toothless  gums,  and  babbled  in  a  piping  voice  of  some 
bygone  war,  dispensing  to  leeward  of  him  an  acid 
perfume  of  hard  cider. 

It  is  quite  possible,  by  the  way,  that  these  seeming 
ne'er-do-weels  had  been  respectable  laboring  people 
eighteen  months  agone,  before  George  III.  undertook 
to  pacificate  Boston  by  closing  its  port  and  throttling 
its  industry. 

In  time  the  boats  slipped  out  from  the  Ferry  Way, 
and,  stealing  slowly  around  the  headland  of  Charles- 
town,  turned  their  sharp  bows  up  the  Mystic  River. 
Still  no  one  spoke  to  Huldah,  and  probably  no  one 
recognized  her,  for  the  boatmen  were  seafaring  people 
by  profession,  while  the  passengers  were  mainly  occu- 
pied with  their  own  misery.  She  was  as  torpid  as  the 
others;  taking  no  note  of  whither  she  was  going; 
sometimes  staring  fixedly  at  the  eldest  of  those  round- 
shouldered  youngsters ;  sometimes  smiling  tenderly  on 
some  shape  of  her  dream  life. 

The  three  women  watched  her  spitefully;  studied 
her  clothing  piece  by  piece  with  a  stare  of  hopeless 
envy ;  turned  occasionally  to  crane  up  the  misty  stream, 
and  shivered  in  the  sour  wind.  The  whole  boat-load 
was  a  forlorn  spectacle  of  our  human  nature  degraded 
and  stupefied  by  evil  fortune.     No  one  spoke  but  the 


384  A  Lover's   Revolt 

inebriate  grandsire;  and  the  greater  part  of  his  dis- 
course was  an  obscure  cackle  concerning  a  long-buried 
past;  as  though  the  venerable  object  of  pity  were 
surely  a  disreputable  returned  ghost,  too  unfragrant 
with  cider  for  endurance  in  a  better  world. 

The  flotilla  ascended  the  Mystic  under  a  flag  of 
truce,  and  was  allowed  to  dump  its  cargoes  of  despair 
a  mile  or  so  below  Medford.  The  family  of  offscour- 
ings above  described  began  to  beg  the  moment  they 
were  fairly  on  shore.  The  two  elder  women  whined 
as  though  they  had  been  born  in  mendicancy.  The 
red-nosed  pre-adamite  halted  before  a  sort  of  sutler 
shop,  bared  his  snowy  head  to  a  couple  of  young  louts, 
addressed  them  as  his  sons,  and  offered  to  dance  for 
cider.  The  ashy-faced  girl  drew  aside  to  munch  her 
sea-biscuit  without  sharing  it,  and  smirked  equivocally 
at  the  bumpkins  who  were  jeering  her  capering  grand- 
father. 

Only  a  few  of  the  refugees  were  met  and  led  away 
by  friends ;  the  others  sat  down  on  their  soiled  packs,  or 
loitered  vacantly  up  the  Medford  pike ;  it  was  an  hour 
before  the  last  one  had  thought  of  a  possible  refuge 
and  mustered  resolution  to  shamble  towards  it.  The 
natives  of  the  land,  impoverished  by  the  war  and  by 
previous  swarms  of  starvelings,  generally  gave  them 
nothing  but  a  large  abundance  of  room  for  passage. 

Huldah,  smiling  to  herself  over  some  sweet  expecta- 
tion, had  been  the  first  to  push  on  toward  Medford. 
She  had  not  floundered  far  along  the  sposhy  road  before 
she  reached  an  outpost  of  the  American  picket-line. 
A  sentry,  a  young  man  in  a  coarse  blue  uniform  coat 
and  tow-cloth  breeches,  one  of  the  newly  embodied 
"  Continentals,"  or  regulars,  stood  on  a  bare  knoll  of 


A  Search  for  Moorcastle  385 

reeking  turf  by  the  wayside,  his  ragged  cowhide  shoes 
squelching  snow-water,  his  chapped  hands  clasped 
around  the  muzzle  of  his  firelock.  He  was  leaning  on 
the  weapon  in  a  violent  fit  of  deep,  hoarse  coughing. 

From  head  to  foot  this  man  showed  nothing  of  the 
tidiness  of  the  well-found,  well-set-up  British  soldier. 
No  stock ;  no  ruffles  to  his  wristbands ;  clothing  stained 
with  mud  and  flecked  with  the  lint  of  his  blanket;  his 
cocked  hat  frayed  at  the  edges  and  without  rosette  or 
other  ornament ;  his  blue  yarn  stockings  torn  to  rags 
by  briars.  Probably  he  possessed  neither  overcoat, 
nor  proper  knapsack,  nor  haversack.  It  was  certain  that 
he  had  no  cartridge-box ;  only  a  leathern  bullet-pouch 
and  a  powder-horn.  Yet  he  was  a  better-accoutred 
soldier  than  nine  tenths  of  the  long-suffering  heroes 
who  fought  out  the  struggle  for  independence  of  that 
discordant,  poverty-stricken  league  which  we  errone- 
ously look  back  upon  as  a  Federal  Union. 

Huldah  confounded  this  simple-hearted  belligerent, 
very  likely  the  son  of  a  country  deacon  or  minister, 
whose  mother  wrote  him  godly  counsel  every  time 
that  she  sent  him  a  fresh  pair  of  stockings,  knitted  by 
her  own  hands,  or  by  those  of  his  grandmother.  As 
the  girl  passed  him  she  nodded  at  him  pertly,  and 
showed  the  tip  of  her  tongue  between  her  lips.  He 
bowed  sheepishly,  stared  after  her  sheepishly  when 
she  had  got  quite  by,  and  then  leaned  forward  in 
another  long  fit  of  coughing. 

A  little  beyond  him  was  a  shingle  cabin,  once 
the  dwelling  of  a  small  farmer,  but  now  used  as  a 
guard-house.  Here  were  a  dozen  Continentals,  some 
lounging  about  in  the  sludge,  two  sitting  in  the  open 
doorway,  others  huddled  around  a  fire  within.     Huldah 

as 


386  A  Lover's  Revolt 

entered,  and  took  a  chair  in  one  corner  of  the  wide 
chimney-place,  putting  out  her  wet  feet  to  the  blaze 
and  gazing  composedly  at  the  soldiers. 

They  were  evidently  abashed  by  the  apparition  of 
this  stylishly-attired  young  lady,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  all  the  privates  had  risen  and  lumbered  out  of 
the  room.  Only  the  lantern-jawed  sergeant  held  to 
his  bench,  and  even  he  had  an  air  of  remaining  on 
sufferance.  **  Putty  muddy  walking  round  these 
parts,"  he  remarked,  after  clearing  his  throat  apolo- 
getically. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  asked  Huldah. 

"  Sly,  ma'am;  Abner  Sly,"  he  said,  dropping  his 
sandy  lashes  under  her  steady  gaze.  "  Surgent  in  the 
Continentals,"  he  added,  trying  not  to  show  pride. 

Huldah  jumped  up,  giggled  her  way  across  the 
hearth,  and  seated  herself  beside  him.  This  wonderful 
soldier  started  as  if  a  siege-gun  had  been  fired  at  him, 
and  turned  as  red  as  fire  to  the  downy  edges  of  his 
wide-spreading  ears. 

"  You  don't  know  me,"  she  continued  to  giggle. 
Seems  to  me  I  see  you  some'eres,"  he  stammered, 
looking  comically  impatient  to  get  away  from  her. 

Now  let  me  tell  you,"  she  went  on  in  a  coaxing 
whisper.  **  I  want  to  find  my  husband.  He  's  a 
captain." 

In  great  alarm  Abner  rose  as  expeditiously  as  he 
could  without  upsetting  the  bench  and  throwing  her 
on  the  floor. 

His  name  is  Moorcastle,"  said  Huldah — "  Captain 
Moorcastle.      Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

No — reckon  not,"  stammered  Abner,  who  was 
most  anxious  to  get  shut  of  her,  looking  upon  her  as  a 


A  Search  for  Moorcastle  387 

corpus  delicti.  *'  Guess  you  '11  find  him  down  to  Cam- 
bridge camp.     It  's  jam-full  of  captings." 

Huldah  smiled  upon  him  in  a  fashion  which  made 
him  blush  again.  Then  she  skipped  out  of  the  house 
and  set  off  towards  Medford,  leaving  him  to  patch  up 
his  shattered  self-possession,  and  to  try  to  recall  where 
he  had  heard  the  name  of  Moorcastle. 

Reaching  the  village,  Huldah  saw  people  running 
ahead  of  her,  and  was  guided  by  them  to  the  Common. 
There  must  be  soldiers  there,  she  felt  sure;  and  she 
dearly  loved  soldiers  for  the  sake  of  her  captain.  What 
she  stumbled  upon  was  one  of  those  judicial  tumults 
which  were  then  so  frequent  in  the  malcontent  prov- 
inces. At  the  foot  of  the  tall  liberty-pole,  amid  a 
town  meeting  of  patriotic  citizens,  a  jury  of  seven  men 
was  trying  a  Tory  of  the  place  for  correspondence  with 
the  enemy.  The  court  was  of  course  not  a  legal  one; 
it  was  exactly  what  we  now  know  as  a  court  of  Judge 
Lynch ;  it  was  a  systematic,  orderly  expression  of 
popular  wrath. 

Huldah  had  squeezed  her  way  into  the  centre  of  the 
throng  just  as  the  proceedings  were  terminating.  The 
prisoner  was  a  corpulent,  broad-shouldered,  burly  man, 
with  pendant  but  healthy-looking  cheeks,  and  a  beet- 
ling forehead.  His  hair  was  powdered  and  clubbed, 
his  plum-colored  coat  was  of  good  broadcloth,  and  he 
clearly  belonged  to  the  class  of  propertied  men  and 
electors. 

But  he  had  incurred  the  popular  hatred,  and  there 
he  stood  awaiting  sentence.  It  was  tragical  to  watch 
the  struggle  which  he  made  to  keep  his  large  lips  from 
trembling,  and  to  express  defiance  in  the  haggard  eyes 
which  he  fixed  upon  his  judges. 


388  A  Lovers  Revolt 

The  sentence  was  tarring  and  feathering,  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  hoisting  to  the  liberty-pole  and  expulsion 
from  the  township.  A  woeful  spasm  shook  the  fat 
Tory's  double  chin,  and  he  cast  a  piteous  glance  around 
him  upon  the  huzzahing  multitude,  as  if  longing  to 
discover  at  least  one  compassionate  face. 

Preparations  for  the  farcical  execution  were  made 
with  haste  and  glee.  No  one  looked  on  with  more  in- 
terest than  Huldah  at  the  stirring  of  the  warm  tar  and 
the  evisceration  of  a  venerable  bolster.  And  when  the 
shining  stickiness  descended  upon  the  hair  and  flinch- 
ing features  and  decent  raiment  of  the  victim,  when 
the  feathers  followed  it,  and  were  dabbed  on  with 
eager  hands  till  he  was  covered  from  top  to  toe  with 
fleeciness;  and  when,  thus  scornfully  disfigured,  he 
was  geared  around  his  capacious  waistband  and  hoisted 
twenty  feet  in  air,  his  eyes  starting  from  their  sockets 
and  his  outspread  hands  clutching  at  naught,  the  poor, 
light-headed  girl  poured  forth  scream  on  scream  of 
laughter,  so  shrill  and  wild  that  the  noisiest  louts  there 
present  faced  about  with  open  mouths  to  stare  at  her. 

The  sufferer  returned  to  earth,  gyrating  slowly 
toward  the  several  points  of  the  compass,  and  landing 
upon  all  fours  amidst  the  exulting  spectators.  He  was 
unbound  from  the  hoisting-rope,  and  allowed  to 
scramble  as  he  could  to  his  feet.  Every  nerve  in  his 
body,  every  feature  in  his  smirched  visage  quivered 
with  fright  and  humiliation.  His  baggy  and  blood- 
shot eyes  had  lost  every  spark  of  defiance,  or  even  of 
protest.  Obviously  he  was  completely  cowed  by  the 
degrading  punishment,  and  by  the  popular  consensus 
which  had  driven  it  into  his  inmost  soul. 

Presently  his  gaze  rested  upon  Huldah  with  a  start 


A  Search  for  Moorcastle  389 

of  surprise,  followed  by  a  spasm  of  humiliation.  Then 
he  lifted  his  twitching  hands  to  his  face,  and  burst  into 
a  loud  fit  of  hoarse  sobbing,  like  the  gasping  of  a 
throttled  beast.  No  wonder  he  was  amazed,  and 
wept.  He  was  her  uncle,  Squire  Hutchinson  Oak- 
bridge,  her  father's  youngest  brother,  and  her  sponsor 
in  baptism. 

There  was  no  chance  for  him  to  learn  that  this  girl, 
whom  he  had  held  as  a  child  upon  his  knee,  and  who 
was  now  laughing  shrilly  at  his  ignominious  distress,  did 
not  know  him.  He  was  bundled  into  a  cart,  seated  as- 
tride of  an  empty  barrel,  and  driven  toppling  through 
the  applauding  village  to  be  dumped  beyond  the 
frontiers  of  Medford.  Huldah  gave  him  a  parting 
shriek  of  hilarity,  and  turned  briskly  about  to  look  for 
soldiers. 

There  were  few  in  Medford,  but  a  little  boy  told  her 
that  she  would  find  millions  of  them  down  Cambridge 
way. 

"  And  General  Washington,  too  !  "  he  added, 
straightening  up  and  breathing  hard  with  pride — a 
forerunner  of  innumerable  American  youngsters  who 
were  to  glory  in  the  glorious  name.  Huldah  asked 
him  the  road ;  and  while  he  was  pointing  it  out  with 
his  small  red  hand,  she  took  his  funny  nose  between 
two  of  her  fingers;  and  they  parted  laughing  loudly, 
the  one  as  much  an  infant  as  the  other. 

She  faced  southward,  and  spattered  on  through  the 
sludge  with  a  subtle  smile,  happier  no  doubt  than  she 
had  been  for  months,  or  perhaps  in  all  her  existence. 
Alas  and  alas  for  life  as  it  is,  or  as  it  is  but  too  often! 
This  smiling  girl  would  have  wept  bitterly  had  her 
reason  been  restored  to  her.     As  things  were  with  her, 


390  A  Lover's  Revolt 

she  was  an  object  of  pity  all  aglow  with  happiness, 
Hke  so  many  another  who  passes  for  sane. 

Erelong,  after  crossing  the  wooden  bridge  over 
Mystic  River,  she  was  among  the  earthworks  of  the 
American  left  wing.  The  redoubts  of  Plowed  Hill  lay 
on  her  left  hand,  and  the  great  fortress  of  Winter  Hill 
frowned  on  her  right.  From  here  on  to  Cambridge 
stretched  more  than  two  miles  of  curtains,  bastions, 
batteries,  and  rifle-pits. 

Soldiers  of  course  abounded;  Continentals  in  blue, 
and  riflemen  in  hunting-shirts,  and  militiamen  in  citi- 
zen costume;  some  on  guard,  and  some  digging  en- 
trenchments, and  some  lounging.  An  elderly  general, 
big,  and  broad-chested,  and  burly,  his  cheery  brown 
face  red  with  exercise  and  his  boots  daubed  to  the  tops 
with  mud,  was  actively  directing  the  working  parties. 
Another  general,  a  tall  and  dignified  man  of  about 
forty,  watched  the  veteran  with  an  approving  smile, 
and  said  to  him,  "  Sir,  you  have  the  art  of  inspiring 
men  with  your  own  zeal  and  energy." 

Huldah  did  not  know  that  one  of  these  was  Israel 
Putnam,  and  the  other  George  Washington.  Neither 
of  them  was  Captain  Moorcastle,  and  so  she  passed 
them  with  indifference,  splashing  on  toward  Cambridge. 

There  she  met  a  man  who  recognized  her,  whether 
she  knew  him  or  not.  In  front  of  the  house  used  as 
general  headquarters  Ash  Farnlee  was  about  to  mount 
his  horse  and  ride  off  on  some  duty.  Their  eyes  met, 
and  he  stood  for  a  moment  paralyzed,  his  dark,  ruddy 
face  suddenly  blanching.  Huldah  gave  him  one  of 
those  sweet  and  yearning  smiles  which  she  was  now 
always  ready  to  bestow  upon  any  man  who  was  any- 
where near  the  age  of  Moorcastle. 


A  Search  for  Moorcastle  391 

He  judged  her  at  once;  not  caring  how  she  came 
there ;  not  knowing  that  she  had  lately  sought  his 
death ;  not  so  much  as  suspecting  that  she  was  insane; 
merely  seeing,  as  he  thought,  that  she  craved  a  recon- 
ciliation ;  and  denying  it  in  anguish  and  anger.  He 
gave  her  one  glance,  answered  her  smile  with  a  spas- 
modic scowl,  mounted  his  horse,  and  spurred  away. 

Huldah,  rejected  and  scorned,  understood  nothing 
of  it,  and  walked  on  with  her  dazed  smile,  looking  for 
Moorcastle.  Of  the  many  soldiers  whom  she  encoun- 
tered, not  one  molested  her  or  spoke  to  her.  There 
was  so  little  discipline  among  them  that  few  ever 
saluted  an  officer.  But  such  was  American  respect  for 
womanhood,  that  this  lonely  girl  could  thread  the 
swarming  camps  without  insult,  and  even  drunken  men 
hushed  their  coarse  bawling  if  they  noted  her  approach. 

A  smell  of  cooked  food  drew  her  to  enter  the  shanty 
of  a  sutler.  She  seated  herself  at  his  bare  pine  table, 
drummed  with  her  fingers  on  a  battered  pewter  plate, 
and  called  for  English  roast  beef  and  plum  pudding. 
The  sutler  grinned,  for  the  chipper  little  man  under- 
stood a  joke  when  he  heard  a  good  one;  and  he 
promptly  set  before  her  a  huge  portion  of  baked  pork 
and  beans,  flanked  by  a  quart  mug  of  cider.  She  ate 
heartily,  though  she  made  a  comical  wry  face  over  the 
cider,  and  asked  him  if  it  was  dry  sherry.  The  sutler 
giggled  civilly  at  her  satire,  and  giggled  cheerfully 
when  she  praised  his  plum  pudding.  It  was  a  long 
time  since  he  had  seen  a  young  lady  who  was  so  full 
of  her  fun. 

But  he  turned  solemn  with  astonishment  when  she 
drew  forth  a  leathern  purse,  and  emptying  a  quantity 
of  guineas  and  shillings  on  the  table,  told  him  to  help 


392  A  Lover's  Revolt 

himself.  Not  for  months  back,  perhaps  never  in  his 
life,  had  he  seen  so  much  specie  together.  He  respect- 
fully picked  out  a  bright  sixpence,  and  apologized  for 
having  no  change;  and  when  she  walked  away  without 
taking  the  purse,  he  hurried  after  her  and  restored  it. 
Her  only  response  was  to  ask  him  where  she  could 
find  her  husband,  Captain  Moorcastle. 

After  a  time  the  camps  ended,  and  she  walked 
through  a  deserted  land.  To  her  left  was  an  arm  of 
the  sea,  a  coldly  gleaming  sheet  of  green  water, 
bordered  along  its  shores  with  gray  ice.  Wintry  as  it 
was,  sending  a  chill  to  rational  thought,  it  seemed  to 
her  a  lovely  spectacle.  Beyond  it,  on  that  blue  ocean 
which  was  its  outer  horizon,  voyaged  one  who  was 
dear — oh,  so  dear !  She  remembered  it  now ;  he  had 
gone  far  away  from  her;  he  was  on  the  Atlantic. 
Well,  she  would  follow  him  ;  she  would  find  a  boat 
and  get  aboard  a  ship ;  she  would  overtake  him  some- 
how. 

There  was  a  cape  far  ahead  of  her,  and  she  settled 
on  that  as  the  place  where  she  must  embark,  for  it  was 
nearer  the  ocean  than  these  inlet  shores.  A  lagoon- 
like rivulet  forced  her  to  make  a  long  detour,  but  she 
found  a  bridge  and  pushed  on  with  insane  persistence, 
threading  devious  by-paths  and  tramping  through 
snowy  commons.  Yet  the  swiftly  falling  night  of 
January  was  closing  around  her  before  she  stood  on 
the  lonely  strand  of  the  cape. 

A  little  later  she  was  in  an  old  canoe,  paddling  with 
her  hands  towards  some  lights  in  the  harbor,  the  lan- 
terns of  the  British  ships  of  war. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

BOMBARDMENT 

FOR  weeks  the  Oakbridges  did  not  hear  a  definite 
word  concerning  the  fate  of  Huldah. 

Mrs.  Loreleigh,  who  was  tenderly  touched  by  the 
sad  mystery,  and  also  found  it  romantically  entertain- 
ing, frequently  dropped  in  with  inquiries  and  sugges- 
tions. One  morning  (it  was  the  memorable  fifth  of 
March)  she  sat  in  the  Oakbridge  parlor  with  Sister 
Ann,  holding  such  discourse  as  human  beings  could 
hold  under  the  circumstances,  for  the  air  was  clamorous 
with  an  incessant  cannonade,  deafening  the  ears  and 
shaking  the  nerves.  There  had  been  a  great  deal  of 
this  racket  around  Boston  of  late,  and  very  few  people 
had  got  comfortably  wonted  to  it,  so  ill-fitted  is  mortal 
man  to  endure  bombarding. 

"  You  may  depend  she  has  followed  him  to  Eng- 
land," said  Mrs.  Loreleigh.  "  My  ^;'<^-cious!  what  a 
crash !  "  she  interjected  in  a  scream,  clapping  her  hands 
to  her  ears.     **  Will  they  never  get  done  ?  " 

Sister  Ann's  soul,  cased  as  it  was  in  Anglo-Saxon 
beef,  was  as  much  shaken  as  Mrs.  Loreleigh's.  Never- 
theless, she  was  able  to  remember  what  was  being 
talked  of,  and  to  express  her  feelings  concerning  it 
with  sufficient  voice,  however  much  her  chin  might 
quiver. 

393 


;94 


A  Lover's  Revolt 


* '  He  ain't  wuth  a  dog's  following  him  ! ' '  she  bawled. 
"  I  despise  him — so  beesly  ongrateful!  He  ought  to 
be  here,  and  tore  to  ribbings  by  these  bumshells. " 

Mrs.  Loreleigh  could  not  sympathize  thoroughly 
with  this  honest  and  fervent  hatred  of  Moorcastle. 
No  romantic  castle-building  hopes  of  hers  had  he  ever 
demolished,  nor  ever  broken  the  heart  of  one  who  was 
dear  to  her,  as  Huldah  was  dear  to  Ann.  Moreover, 
it  was  not  natural  for  her  to  permanently  and  vigor- 
ously take  the  part  of  her  sex  against  the  other. 

At  the  same  time,  remembering  the  Captain's  court- 
ship of  her  married  self,  and  shuddering  in  fear  of 
death  at  the  sound  of  every  cannon,  she  could  not  help 
thinking  of  him  as  a  rather  bad  man,  and  could  not 
desire  to  defend  him.  It  was  more  appropriate  to  the 
moment  to  talk  of  poor  Huldah. 

"  I  am  sure  I  hope  it  will  end  well,"  she  said.  "  But 
how  will  she  get  on  over  there  ?  Is  it  true  that  she 
took  with  her  a  great  deal  of  money  ?  " 

At  this  moment  Jehiel  Oakbridge  entered  the  room; 
and,  notwithstanding  the  iron  uproar  without,  he 
caught  the  sense  of  the  question;  for  Mrs.  Loreleigh 
had  put  it  forth  in  her  most  piercing  soprano. 

"  Oh !  not  enough,"  he  shouted,  and  then  paused  to 
utter  a  groan  which  no  one  heard  but  his  Maker,  so 
clamorously  bellowed  fleet  and  battery.  "  Not 
enough!"  he  repeated.  "Why  did  n't  she  take 
more  ? — all  there  was!  If  we  could  only  send  it  to 
her  !" 

He  too  believed  that  Huldah  was  in  England,  or  at 
least  somewhere  in  lands  of  the  living.  The  fact  of 
death — the  death  of  his  youngest  and  best-loved  child 
— was  inadmissible  with  him  until  it  was  indisputable. 


Bombardment  395 

And  yet  death  was  in  the  air  that  he  breathed ;  it  was 
not  far  from  any  one  that  morning  in  Boston,  as  well 
as  in  the  American  lines ;  his  last  words  were  drowned 
by  the  prolonged,  deafening,  savage  crash  of  a  thirteen- 
inch  bomb. 

"  Mercy  on  us !  "  screamed  Mrs.  Loreleigh.  **  Those 
horrible  creatures!     Do  they  mean  to  murder  us  all  ?  " 

"  It  's  just  like  Yankees — firing  on  women  and  child- 
ren !  "  yelled  Sister  Ann,  her  under  jaw  shaking  piti- 
fully. "  It  stands  one  in  hand  to  be  prepared.  If  ever 
I  prayed  and  besought  for  a  clean  heart,  it  was  this 
very  morning." 

"Oh!  I  must  get  away,"  cried  Mrs.  Loreleigh, 
scared  the  more  by  this  pious  talk.  "  I  came  here  for 
company,  but  it  's  more  cheerful  at  home." 

She  had  risen  from  her  chair;  but  she  sat  down 
again,  for  just  then  Lieutenant  Eastwold  entered  the 
room ;  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  there  was  some  pro- 
tection in  the  presence  of  a  uniform. 

The  young  man  addressed  himself  to  Oakbridge, 
with  a  touching  expression  of  sympathy  and  grief. 

' '  I  have  j ust  had  speech  with  an  American  prisoner, ' ' 
he  said.  "  The  man  was  on  scouting  duty  at  Dorches- 
ter Neck  six  weeks  ago;  and  there  they  found  on  the 
shore  a  young  lady  who  wore 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence;  his  mouth  quivered 
too  violently.  When  he  could  speak  again  he  gasped 
out,  "  They  took  this  from  her " 

Here  he  held  up  a  little  locket  which  they  all  recog- 
nized as  Huldah's,  a  much-valued  gift  from  her  Uncle 
Hutchinson  Oakbridge  of  Medford,  now  supposed  to 
be  a  refugee  at  Halifax. 

"  They  buried    her  there   on  the    Neck,"   was  his 


396  A  Lover's  Revolt 

next  gasp ;  and  then,  clasping  his  hands  over  his  face, 
he  wept  aloud. 

The  others  wept  with  him,  while  the  remorseless 
cannon  bellowed  as  if  in  mockery,  and  the  dwelling 
shook  as  if  it  would  leave  its  foundations  and  flee  for 
safety.  Mrs.  Oakbridge  came  in,  and  her  husband 
cried  the  story  into  her  ear,  holding  her  up  by  one 
arm.  Uncle  Fenn  followed,  and  listened  to  the  tragedy 
from  Sister  Ann.  The  puritan  mother  seated  herself 
quietly,  shedding  tears  and  trembling,  but  speechless. 
The  nerves  of  the  old  man,  shattered  by  days  and 
nights  of  bombardment,  went  to  piteous  wreck. 

"  Oh  Lord,  this  is  more  than  we  can  bear,"  he 
whimpered.     "  Oh  Lord,  Thy  hand  is  very  heavy." 

Mrs.  Loreleigh  wiped  her  eyes  violently,  and  then 
clapped  her  fingers  to  her  ears.  "  I  shall  just  die  of 
all  this,"  she  exclaimed  petulantly.  "  That  poor  girl 
under  all  those  cannon-balls!  Do  tell  us,  Mr.  East- 
wold!  what  are  the  ships  about  ?  " 

He  explained  that  they  were  still  trying  to  drive  the 
Americans  from  their  new  position  on  Dorchester 
Heights. 

"  Well,  why  don't  they  do  it  ?  "  she  demanded. 
"Can't  they?" 

"  Why,  no — that  is,  not  yet.  Their  works  are  ex- 
traordinarily strong.  The  General  was  perfectly  amazed 
this  morning.  *  They  have  done  more  in  one  night,' 
said  he,  *  than  my  army  would  do  in  a  month.'  It  's 
quite  astonishing,  Mistress  Loreleigh,  what  they  have 
thrown  up." 

"  You  '11  see!  they  '11  bust  in  here  yet,"  groaned 
Sister  Ann,  who  was  beginning  to  hope  they  might,  if 
that  would  stop  the  cannonade.     "  And  then  we  '11 


Bombardment  397 

have  to  start  for  foring  parts.  Lud !  what  a  tremble 
I  'm  in!  You  might  knock  me  down  with  a  stror  just 
as  easy  as  not." 

"  They  cant  get  in,"  shouted  Uncle  Fenn,  tempo- 
rarily forgetting  Huldah  in  his  loyalist  rage.  "  They 
never  can  do  it!  Not  while  the  earth  stands!  God 
won't  permit  it.  And  so  " — turning  to  Eastwold  with  a 
chuckle — ' '  so  the  ships  are  still  peppering  the  rascals  ? ' ' 

There  was  no  need  to  put  it  as  a  question,  for  all  the 
men-of-war  in  South  Bay,  less  than  half  a  mile  distant, 
were  roaring  together. 

"  Oh,  how  can  I  bear  it!"  cried  Mrs.  Oakbridge, 
starting  up.  "  All  those  cruel  shot  falling  on  my 
child's  grave!  " 

"  And  Huldah's  grave  is  answering  back,"  added 
Oakbridge.     "  It  looks  like  a  vengeance  of  Heaven." 

The  mother  wrung  her  hands  in  horror,  and  then 
tottered  out  of  the  room,  followed  by  her  hus- 
band, who  gasped,  "  Don't  faint,  Dorothy! — don'tee. 


now 


"  That  's  an  awful  idear,"  groaned  Ann.  "  But 
she  won't  faint;  no  indeed.     It  '11  be  me  first." 

"  They  never  can  get  in,"  Uncle  Fenn  continued  to 
shout,  as  if  trying  to  outbellow  the  broadsiding.  "  A 
just  God  won't  permit  it.  He  will  rain  hailstones  and 
fire  upon  them.  He  will  destroy  them  even  as  the 
Amorites. " 

"  Oh,  what  is  the  use!"  snapped  Mrs.  Loreleigh, 
thoroughly  fretted  by  the  old  man's  devout  bravado, 
as  scared  people  frequently  are  fretted  when  others  do 
not  sympathize  with  their  terror.  "  If  the  rebels  are 
to  be  allowed  to  keep  Dorchester  Neck,  we  had  better 
ask  them  in  here  and  have  done  with  this." 


398  A  Lover's  Revolt 

"You  don't  mean  it,  madame!"  protested  the 
horrified  parson. 

But  she  jumped  up,  stuffed  her  fingers  into  her  ears, 
crying,  "  Mer-Q.y\  what  a  crash!  "  and  dashed  out  of 
the  house. 

The  reverberations  of  the  shattered  bomb  ceased, 
and  once  more  they  could  hear  each  other  speak. 

"  That  's  a  dreadful  idear  of  father's,"  whimpered 
Ann.  "  Huldah's  grave  making  war  on  us!  I  wish 
Capting  Moorksle  was  here  to  be  tore  to  ribbings." 

Eastwold  could  endure  no  more  of  the  doleful  dia- 
logue. He  drew  a  long,  shuddering  sigh,  clenched  his 
finger-nails  into  his  palms,  and  strode  off  to  his  duties. 
It  is  likely  that,  if  at  that  moment  he  had  encountered 
Moorcastle,  nothing  but  death  could  have  separated 
them. 

"Lud!  I  didn't  think  of  hinty  poor  boy!  "  moaned 
Ann ;  but  ere  she  could  cry  over  him,  she  was  frighted 
out  of  it  by  the  cannon.  The  good-hearted  creature 
was  being  whirled  hither  and  thither  by  the  scared 
egotism  of  the  battle-field,  one  of  the  most  distracting 
and  hardening  experiences  possible  to  humanity. 

We  must  explain  that  the  military  situation  around 
Boston  had  reached  a  crisis.  The  American  army, 
after  more  than  ten  months  of  cautious  blockading, 
had  become  strong  enough  to  risk  decisive  movements. 
His  Excellency  George  Washington  (little  read  of  now 
in  his  own  country,  but  there  are  five  biographies  of 
him  in  Japanese)  had  in  hand  seventeen  thousand  six 
hundred  men,  of  whom  ten  thousand  were  Continen- 
tals, or  regulars.  Chief-of-Artillery  Henry  Knox  had 
sledded  on  from  New  York  fourteen  mortars  and  forty 
heavy  guns.     In  the  Charles  River  lurked  two  floating 


Bombardment  399 

batteries  and  enough  launches  to  transport  thirty-six 
hundred  men.  Engineer  Gridley  had  hundreds  of  fas- 
cines and  bales  of  screwed  hay  for  the  filling  of  ditches, 
and  the  surgeon-general  exulted  over  a  treasure  of 
salve,  lint,  and  two  thousand  bandages. 

Things  being  thus  ready,  why  not  bundle  Howe 
into  the  sea  ?  Congress  recommended  it;  the  thirteen 
colonies  demanded  it;  Boston  was  the  most  eager  of 
all.  The  exiled  patriots  of  this  heroic  little  city  were 
willing  and  resolved  to  destroy  its  every  dwelling, 
rather  than  let  the  enemies  of  English  law  and  provin- 
cial liberties  remain  in  it. 

"  May  God  crown  your  attempt  with  success,"  wrote 
Hancock  to  Washington.  "  I  most  heartily  wish  it, 
though  I  may  be  the  greatest  sufferer." 

During  his  military  career  Washington  made  three 
strokes  worthy  of  the  greatest  of  captains.  In  the 
seizure  of  Dorchester  Heights  he  anticipated  the  move- 
ment by  which  the  youthful  Bonaparte  (if  it  were  he) 
expelled  the  English  from  the  harbor  and  fortress  of 
Toulon.  In  the  campaign  of  Trenton  he  anticipated, 
and  victoriously,  the  vaunted  march  of  Napoleon  upon 
the  rear  of  Schwartzenburg  during  the  allied  advance 
upon  Paris.  In  the  rapid  and  decisive  concentration 
against  Cornwallis  at  Yorktown  he  imitated  the  com- 
bination of  Nero  with  Livius  for  the  overthrow  of 
Hasdrubal. 

His  present  problem  was  to  drive  the  English  out  of 
Boston  by  suddenly  grasping  and  fortifying  the  hilly 
cape  south  of  the  harbor,  known  as  Dorchester  Neck. 
To  mask  this  design,  and  draw  the  attention  of  Howe 
in  another  direction,  there  was  a  preliminary  bombard- 
ment along  the  northwestern  front  of  the  British  de- 


40o'  A  Lover's  Revolt 

fences;  the  batteries  of  Cobble  Hill  and  Lechmere's 
Point  and  Lamb's  Dam  opening  with  thirteen-inch 
shell,  eleven-inch  shell,  and  solid  shot  ;  while  the 
redcoats  responded  from  Fox  Hill,  Barton's  Point, 
Bunker  Hill,  and  their  armed  gondolas  near  the 
Causeway. 

For  three  nights  every  rooftree  and  window  within 
miles  around  shuddered  and  clattered  in  answer  to  the 
bellowing.  In  Boston,  and  Roxbury,  and  Cambridge 
people  sat  up  till  morning,  or  went  to  bed  only  to  lie 
awake.  **  It  was  an  amazing  roar  of  cannon,"  wrote 
Mrs.  John  Adams  to  her  husband  ;  **  it  was  a  continual 
roar  of  twenty-four-pounders  and  bursting  shells." 

Things  went  well  for  a  time  with  "  the  red  St. 
George's  cannoneers."  The  Americans  burst  five  of 
their  venerable  mortars,  and  their  fire  ran  down  on  the 
third  night  to  one  hundred  and  fifty-seven  shots,  only 
thirteen  of  them  bombs. 

But  during  the  night  of  March  4th  two  thousand 
Yankees,  under  Thomas,  threw  up  on  Dorchester 
Heights  such  a  vast  line  of  entrenchments  that  when 
General  Howe  looked  at  it  in  the  morning,  he  thought 
he  must  be  still  asleep  and  suffering  with  nightmare. 
As  soon  as  he  came  to  himself  he  dictated  a  letter 
concerning  it  to   the    Secretary  for  Colonial  Affairs. 

It  must  have  been,"  he  said,  "  the  work  of  twelve 
thousand  men." 

Meantime  Admiral  Shuldham  had  opened  fiercely  on 
Thomas;  and  the  entire  semicircle  of  American  artil- 
lery was  hurling  shot  and  shell  all  over  the  Shawmut 
peninsula;  while  the  British  land  batteries,  from  the 
Barrier  round  to  Bunker  Hill,  roared,  and  screeched, 
and   banged   in   reply.     For  hours   during  that  wild 


Bombardment  401 

March  morning  Boston  was  rolled  in  smoke,  and  trem- 
ulous with  shouting  cannon  and  bursting  bombs.  No 
wonder  that  the  sorrowing  Oakbridges  could  hardly 
hear  each  other's  mourning  for  Huldah. 

Howe  was  as  good  a  general  as  an  extremely  slow 
and  pacific  armadillo  can  be.  That  he  must  have  Dor- 
chester Heights,  or  else  abandon  Boston,  was  as  clear 
to  him  as  it  would  have  been  to  Napoleon.  He  ordered 
Earl  Percy  to  cross  the  Bay  during  the  evening  with 
twenty-five  hundred  troops,  and  storm  the  American 
works  under  cover  of  darkness. 

But  Washington,  who  had  of  course  foreseen  this 
movement,  was  prepared  both  to  confront  it  and  to 
take  advantage  of  it.  The  entrenching  division  under 
Thomas  was  re-enforced  and  furnished  with  cannon. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  city  two  columns  of  two  thou- 
sand men  each,  under  Sullivan  and  Greene,  with  Put- 
nam in  general  command,  were  to  land  at  the  Common 
and  Barton's  Point,  while  a  third  column  threatened 
the  Barrier. 

It  was  a  difficult  enterprise;  and  probably  fortune 
favored  the  Americans  in  not  permitting  them  to  at- 
tempt it;  for  the  English  chief  had  in  hand  eleven 
thousand  soldiers  and  sailors  with  hundreds  of  cannon. 

But  the  green  warriors  in  the  miles  of  besieging  lines 
were  full  of  zeal  and  of  confidence  in  their  commander. 
Everybody  was  repeating  and  commending  to  every- 
body else  his  Excellency's  famous  instructions,  still 
worthy  of  being  remembered  : 

"  If  any  man  skulks,  or  presumes  to  retreat  without 

orders,  he  must  be  shot  down  at  once.     Cowards  have 

often  disconcerted  the  brave,  and  must  be  treated  as 

public  enemies." 
26 


402  A  Lovers  Revolt 

But  when  evening  came,  it  brought  with  it  a  furious 
storm  of  wind,  which  rendered  the  embarkation  of 
Percy's  column  impossible,  and  the  American  assault 
on  Boston  unnecessary. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 


A   KISS   FOR   EASTWOLD 


NO  mere  storm  of  wind  could  prevent  Uncle  Fenn 
from  carrying  on  the  war  with  that  implacable 
rage  which  characterizes  the  non-combatant.  He  and 
his  God  (for  he  talked  as  though  he  had  one  of  his  own) 
routed  the  Yankees,  in  anticipation,  all  that  evening. 

"  We  shall  soon  hear  of  the  scoundrels  being  dis- 
persed to  the  four  winds,"  he  said  to  his  mourning 
brother  and  sister-in-law,  with  a  chuckle  which  seemed 
to  them  cruel,  and  to  himself  righteous.  "  By  sunrise 
to-morrow  there  won't  be  living  rebels  enough  on 
Dorchester  Heights  to  rob  a  hen-roost." 

In  the  morning,  when  he  found  that  Percy's  enter- 
prise had  been  delayed  by  the  tempest,  he  maintained 
the  same  exasperating  confidence.  **  All  the  better!  " 
he  affirmed.  "  The  British  bayonet  does  its  duty  best 
by  daylight.  The  works  of  godliness  stand  in  no  need 
of  darkness." 

Meantime  he  was  in  a  state  of  nervous  agitation 
which  threatened  acute  illness,  or  even  loss  of  reason. 
The  cannonade  and  the  lack  of  sufficient  sleep  had 
broken  down  his  strength  and  self-command.  He  was 
ghastly  pale;  his  flabby  cheeks  and  double  chin  all 
a-quiver;  his  voice  husky  and  by  times  extinct.  The 
truth  is  that  the  shelling  had  scared  him,  though  in  the 

403 


404  A  Lover's  Revolt 

very  height  of  the  uproar,  and  when  he  was  shaking 
with  dread  of  death  or  laceration,  he  would  not  own  it. 

"  I  am  ready,"  he  would  stammer.  **  I  am  sup- 
ported wonderfully." 

Percy  never  attacked  Dorchester  Heights,  for  the 
wind  blew  furiously  all  the  6th  of  March,  and  by  dawn 
of  the  7th  the  American  entrenchments  had  become 
formidably  strong.  Even  the  leading  Tories,  such  as 
Judge  Oliver  and  Timothy  Ruggles,  who  were  more 
anxious  for  battle  than  the  English  themselves,  began 
to  mutter,  "  It  is  too  late." 

"  Never!  "  insisted  Parson  Fenn.  "  The  eleventh 
hour  is  as  good  as  the  first,  if  the  Most  High  so  wills 
it;  and  surely  He  must  will  it  now  in  the  precious 
cause  of  His  anointed." 

But  it  was  not  long  before  Mrs.  Loreleigh  dropped 
in  upon  the  Oakbridges  with  the  news  that  General 
Howe  had  lost  all  hope  of  storming  Dorchester,  and 
was  preparing  to  abandon  Boston. 

"  It  is  false!  "  shouted  Uncle  Fenn.  **  He  dare  not 
abandon  this  city!  His  king  has  commanded  him  to 
stay  here  and  hold  it." 

He  fairly  frightened  the  petted  beauty  out  of  her 
temper  and  toppingness.  She  could  only  gasp  meekly, 
"  But  the  Admiral,  reverend  sir!  The  Admiral  says 
they  can  sink  him  at  his  anchors.     He  says  he  must 

go- 

The  parson  was  about  to  quote  Scripture  to  the  con- 
trary, when  Lieutenant  Eastwold  arrived  breathless, 
and  corroborated  Mrs.  Loreleigh's  tidings. 

"  I  thought  I  would  warn  you  at  once,"  he  said  to 
the  Oakbridges.  "  There  will  be  a  wonderful  rush  to 
get  out  of  the  city.     If  you  decide  to  leave,  let  me 


A   Kiss  for  Eastwold  405 

know  as  early  as  possible,  and  I  '11  try  to  secure  a  place 
on  a  transport  for  you." 

"  Where  are  we  all  to  go  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Lore- 
leigh. 

Halifax,"  he  shouted  as  he  hasted  away. 

Mrs.  Loreleigh  dropped  back  in  her  chair,  and  blew 
out  her  lips  with  a  little  pettish  breath,  like  a  smoker 
throwing  off  a  puff  of  smoke.  The  entire  gesture  was 
equivalent  to  saying,  *'  Not  I!  " 

"  I  '11  go,  I  '11  go,"  babbled  Uncle  Fenn  in  a  qua- 
vering stammer.  "  And  you  '11  go  too,  Jehiel.  We  '11 
all  go.  We  can  pray  for  our  king  there.  Where  is 
Huldah  ?  Oh,  dear!  I  forgot.  I  must  pack  my  own 
trunk  now.  I  '11  begin  to  pack  at  once.  The  king's 
business  requires  haste." 

But  before  night  he  took  to  his  bed,  a  sadly  ailing 
and  fretful  old  man,  an  image  of  the  loyalist  party  in 
the  thirteen  provinces,  death-stricken  though  full  of 
faith  and  spite.  Sometimes  he  quarrelled  with  his 
brother  and  sister-in-law  because  they  would  not  pack 
for  Halifax,  charging  upon  them  that  they  were  hold- 
ing back  a  part  of  their  duty  to  the  Lord's  anointed, 
and  calling  them  Ananias  and  Sapphira.  Sometimes 
he  declared  that  he  himself  would  not  quit  Boston. 

*'  I  will  stay  and  defy  the  wretches,"  he  whimpered. 
**  I  will  get  out  of  bed  and  fight  them  myself.  In  the 
strength  of  the  Lord  will  I  arise  to  do  battle." 

Then  again  he  was  full  of  hope  that  all  would  yet  go 
well  for  the  king's  party  in  Massachusetts.  "  The 
cannonade  has  stopped,"  he  exclaimed  joyfully. 
"  The  enemies  of  law  have  been  put  to  flight." 

"  No,  Brother  Timothy,"  explained  Jehiel.  "  But 
there  has  been  a  kind  of  understanding  brought  about, 


4o6  A  Lover's  Revolt 

whereby  Sir  William  will  spare  the  town  if  Washington 
will  let  him  depart  in  peace." 

"  Let  him  burn  it!"  cried  Uncle  Fenn.  "  I  'd 
rather  see  it  a  desolation  than  see  it  in  the  hands  of 
rebels." 

"  It  's  not  fur  from  a  ruin  now.  Come,  Timothy, 
don't  be  so  excited  and  feverish  about  things.  Let 
wife  bring  you  a  bowl  of  gruel;  and  do  try  to  get 
something  down." 

"  No,  don't  call  her!  Vou  stay  with  me,  Jehiel. 
She — she  troubles  me;  I  know  her  heart  is  n't  right. 
Oh,  she  means  well;  she  's  a  good  woman;  she  '11  go 
to  heaven.  But  her  heart  is  with  this  rebellion,  and 
it  troubles  me  to  look  at  her." 

It  seemed  to  Jehiel  that  his  brother  was  pretty  nearly 
insane ;  but  he  made  no  other  reply  than  to  rub  his 
hands  and  smile  pitifully. 

"  If  Huldah  was  only  here!  "  wailed  Uncle  Fenn; 
and  then  they  both  broke  out  in  violent  sobbing. 

"  She  'd  'a'  been  here  and  happy,  if  it  had  n't  been 
for  that  British  officer,"  said  Jehiel  at  last. 

The  sick  man  moaned  piteously,  and  tried  to  pat  his 
brother's  shoulder.  "  Don't  talk  about  it,"  he  whis- 
pered. "  Oh  dear,  oh  dear!  The  Lord  help  us!  The 
Lord  have  mercy  upon  us,  poor  short-sighted  creat- 
ures ! 

So  loyal  was  he  to  everything  English  that  he  could 
not  even  be  bitter  against  Moorcastle.  Indeed,  it  is 
questionable  whether  he  did  not  admire  that  high-born 
redcoat  the  more  for  the  easy  arrogance  with  which  he 
had  burst  in  upon  the  self-respect  of  the  Oakbridges, 
and  the  half-unconscious  ruthlessness  with  which  he 
had    trampled    on    their  happiness.     Was  it   not   the 


A  Kiss  for  Eastwold  407 

privilege  and  distinguishing  mark  of  a  British  gentle- 
man to  ride  at  will  athwart  the  harvests  of  plebeians  ? 
Was  it  not  an  honor  to  the  plebeians  themselves  that 
their  humble  domains  should  be  thus  nobly  hunted 
over  ? 

Eastwold  the  clergyman  regarded  as  a  far  inferior 
person  to  Moorcastle.  "  Good  little  fellow,"  he  said 
of  him  to  Mrs.  Oakbridge,  junior.  "  Of  course  I  re- 
spect him  for  his  cloth;  a  king's  ofificer  is  a  king's 
officer.  But  he  is  no  such  man  as  the  other ;  the  blood 
is  n't  there." 

Even  cockney  Sister  Ann,  deeply  as  she  reverenced 
crown  and  coronets,  resented  this  scorn  of  a  noble- 
hearted  youngster  merely  because  he  was  a  commoner. 
Eastwold's  father  was  a  draper,  to  be  sure,"  she 
admitted.  '*  But  all  the  same  I  'm  thinking  that,  if 
all  his  Majesty's  officers  in  the  colonies  had  been  like 
him,  there  *d  never  been  no  rebellion." 

Uncle  Fenn  made  no  reply.  He  felt  too  weak  to 
argue;  and  then  what  was  the  use  ?  Poor  Ann  had 
been  brought  up  a  dissenter,  and  so  had  a  natural  lean- 
ing toward  plebeianism,  as  well  as  a  hopeless  defective- 
ness in  the  reasoning  powers. 

"  Father  and  Mother  Oakbridge  just  wusship  him," 
she  continued.  "  Mother  Oakbridge  can't  talk  of  him 
without  the  tears  drowning  her  eyes.  Of  course  it  's 
partly  on  Huldah's  account;  but  partly  too  it  's  on 
his'n.  He  's  clean  won  their  broken  'earts  with 
his  respect  for  them  and  his  sorrowing  over  poor 
sister." 

''  Yes,  he  's  a  good  boy,"  conceded  Uncle  Fenn, 
melting  a  little  toward  the  gentle-hearted  youth. 
"  May  the  Lord  bless  him  and  console  him." 


4o8  A   Lover's  Revolt 

**  We  *d  *a'  had  the  shop  robbed  this  morning  but 
for  him  hap'ning  by,"  resumed  Ann.  "  I  wi/l  say  the 
conduck  of  some  of  the  soldiers  is  just  shameful.  They 
find  rum  somehow,  and  then  they  get  as  wild  as  sav- 
ages. A  gang  bust  in  upon  John,  bawHng,  *  'Ell  or 
'Alifax!  '  They  made  believe  they  wanted  him  to 
pack  up  and  go  aboard  a  transport.  But  all  they  were 
after  was  the  key  of  the  spirit  cubbard.  John  gave  it 
up;  you  know  how  easy  frighted  he  is;  but  just  then 
Mr.  Eastwold  huv  in  sight,  and  the  soldiers  run  for  it. 
Oh,  they  were  n't  so  groggy  but  they  could  remember 
what  it  is  to  get  three  hundred." 

She  gave  no  exaggerated  impression  of  the  evil  con- 
dition of  Boston.  For  ten  days  the  beleaguered  and 
bombarded  town  was  insulted  and  plundered  by  its 
nominal  protectors.  Crean  Brush's  Loyal  Americans 
(nearly  all  born  in  the  old  country)  looted  and  wasted 
like  a  gang  of  buccaneers.  The  rabble  of  spiteful  loy- 
alist refugees  from  the  country  districts  was  as  ungov- 
ernable and  noxious  as  the  drunken  stragglers  from  the 
barracks. 

It  was  impossible  for  the  humane  and  well-meaning 
Howe  to  preserve  order.  All  the  men  not  on  guard, 
or  on  their  one  day  off  duty,  were  engaged  in  embark- 
ing the  hundreds  of  cannon  and  the  endless  masses  of 
army  stores,  or  in  destroying  what  could  not  be  carried 
away.  Swarms  of  bluejackets  were  ashore,  sweating 
at  the  same  labor  while  they  were  watched,  but  truant- 
ing  when  they  could.  More  than  a  thousand  Tories 
and  several  hundred  officers  were  getting  their  luggage 
into  the  transports.  Houses,  magazines,  and  the  very 
streets  were  littered  with  furniture  and  other  property 
which  the  owners  could  neither  remove  nor  guard.     In 


A  Kiss  for  Eastwold  409 

such  a  city  of  confusion,  how  could  riot  and  plunder 
be  prevented  ? 

Mrs.  Loreleigh,  a  coquette  in  loyalism  as  in  love, 
rapidly  lost  patience  with  this  style  of  garrisoning,  and 
began  to  wish  that  Howe  would  be  off  with  himself 
and  his  roysters. 

"  Why  don't  he  go — or  else  fight!  "  she  exclaimed 
in  the  very  presence  of  Uncle  Fenn.  "  I  am  sick  of 
such  generalship  —  living  on  the  forbearance  of  Mr. 
Washington — keeping  the  town  topsy-turvy  for  weeks 
— no  safety  in  the  streets,  nor  scarcely  in  bed — no 
society,  nor  amusement,  nor  hope  of  any — no  chance 
of  staying  and  yet  won't  go!  The  king  seems  to  be 
about  as  badly  off  for  generals  as  Boston  women  are 
for  beaux.  I  begin  to  think  that  Mr.  Washington  will 
be  king  of  these  colonies  before  five  years  are  over." 

Uncle  Fenn  solemnly  arose  on  one  elbow,  and  roll- 
ing two  bloodshot  eyes  at  Mrs.  Loreleigh,  intoned, 
*'  Oh,  thou  of  little  faith " 

But  he  was  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  hasty  steps, 
followed  by  the  appearance  of  Eastwold  in  the  door- 
way, pallid  with  toil  and  watching.  "  I  wanted  to 
say,"  stammered  the  young  man,  "  the  town  is  in 
such  a  riotous  state!  If  you  were  on  one  of  the  trans- 
ports I  should  feel  easier." 

Then  the  mother  of  Huldah  announced  her  resolu- 
tion. She  took  Eastwold  by  the  shoulders  and  kissed 
his  haggard  cheek  fervently.  "  I  love  you  dearly," 
she  sobbed.  "  May  God  go  with  you!  But  I  can't 
leave  my  country.     I  can't  sail  away  from  /ler  grave." 

Uncle  Fenn  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  tried  to 
die.     But  he  could  not — poor  man! — not  yet. 


CHAPTER  XL 

TO   HALIFAX   OR  ! 

SIR  WILLIAM  HOWE  prolonged  the  agony  of 
Boston  and  of  Uncle  Fenn  for  twelve  days. 

He  hoped  every  morning  that  on  the  morrow  re-en- 
forcements might  arrive  which  would  enable  him  to 
bayonet  Washington  out  of  Dorchester;  and,  if  he 
must  depart,  he  wanted  to  save  England's  honor  and 
his  own  by  carrying  off  every  cannon,  every  ton  of 
army  stores,  and  every  hulk  in  the  harbor. 

Uncle  Fenn  grew  hopeful ;  he  prayed  a  great  deal, 
and  he  trusted  that  his  prayers  were  heard,  as  indeed 
they  were  in  the  next  room ;  he  became  so  hopeful 
and  cheerful  that  he  began  to  rally  in  health.  But 
unluckily  for  him,  Washington  lost  patience  with  the 
Britannic  armadillo,  and  undertook  to  quicken  his 
movements  by  seizing  the  extreme  nose  of  Dorchester 
Neck,  less  than  eighty  rods  from  southwestern  Boston. 

As  it  was  still  only  March  loth,  and  the  evenings 
were  chilly,  some  of  the  raw  soldiers  of  the  expedition 
kindled  a  fire.  The  unlucky  blaze  startled  Admiral 
Shuldham  into  broadsiding;  whereupon  the  vast  cres- 
cent of  American  batteries  responded,  and  the  English 
batteries  rejoined  ;  so  that  a  hundred  or  more  of  bel- 
lowing fire-spouts  raged  for  ten  hours  around  Boston. 
The  upshot  of  this  artillery  duel  was  that  the  Yankees 
had  to  give  up  Nook's  Hill  for  the  present. 

410 


To  Halifax  or — — !  411 

Every-shot  of  that  cannonade  looked  up  Uncle  Fenn 
in  his  sick-room.  He  jumped,  and  groaned,  and  prayed 
all  night,  as  very  likely  did  every  other  ailing  person  in 
the  city,  and  not  a  few  who  were  well.  So  pitiable 
was  his  condition  in  the  morning  that  Mrs.  Oakbridge 
told  him  of  the  British  triumph,  and  even  magnified  it 
a  kindly  little,  to  save  his  life.  The  tidings  worked 
like  a  charm,  so  potent  is  the  spirit  over  the  body. 
He  sat  up  in  bed  to  eat  his  breakfast,  and  exulted  like 
a  monster  over  his  patient  nurse. 

I    think    I    shall    get    well    now,"    he    chuckled. 

Such  news  as  that  every  day  would  make  a  hearty 
man  of  me.     I  presume  they  killed  hundreds  of  them. ' ' 

Poor  Mrs.  Oakbridge,  ghastly  from  watching  over 
him  half  the  night,  winced  under  the  outburst  of  Tory 
gratulation  which  she  had  aroused.  It  was  a  great  re- 
lief to  have  Doctor  Lloyd  come  in,  so  that  she  could 
escape  for  a  while  from  this  terrible  object  of  com- 
passion. 

The  doctor  was  a  stout,  blond,  rosy  man  of  fifty, 
who  had  the  kindliest,  joUiest  smile  in  the  world,  and 
who  could  soothingly  assent  to  every  sort  of  sick-bed 
gabble.  Many  a  languishing  creature  had  been  saved 
by  his  faculty  for  listening  and  smiling  and  nodding. 
He  did  not  believe  at  this  moment  that  his  patient 
would  live  a  week ;  and  yet  he  had  the  air  of  regarding 
him  as  a  man  who  was  merely  a  bit  out  of  sorts. 
Uncle  Fenn,  on  his  part,  forgot  to  ask  how  his  pulse 
counted,  and  could  hardly  spare  time  to  stick  out  his 
tongue,  so  eager  was  he  to  talk  of  the  British  victory. 

"  One  more  such,  and  we  '11  finish  'em,"  he  exulted 
in  a  hasty  stutter,  not  easy  to  understand.  "  Dear 
me,  what  chance  have  they  against  us  ?     Madness  has 


412  A  Lover's  Revolt 

possessed  their  souls,  or  they  would  beseech  the  king's 
grace  this  very  day.  Was  there  ever  such  a  pitiful  re- 
bellion against  such  a  mighty  power  ?  New  England 
stands  alone  in  it.  New  York,  and  New  Jersey,  and 
Pennsylvania  are  as  loyal  as  you  and  I,  Doctor.  Our 
Southern  brethren  have  n't  sent  a  thousand  men  to 
help  their  Excellency  Washington.  Oh,  the  lunacy 
of  these  four  penniless  provinces  defying  the  mother 
country!  The  Most  High  laughs  them  to  scorn.  He 
has  demented  them,  and  He  will  destroy  them." 

For  many  minutes  the  doctor  smilingly  listened, 
meekly  nodding  assent  to  every  sentence,  and  softly 
stroking  the  invalid's  quivering  hand.  After  a  while 
there  came  a  yawn  ;  little  by  little  the  torrent  of  words 
subsided  into  a  somnolent  muttering;  and  at  last  the 
poor  old  incarnation  of  perishing  loyalism  fell  into  a 
nervous,  twitching  slumber. 

For  five  days  Boston  and  Uncle  Fenn  lay  in  a  kind 
of  lethargy.  The  batteries  on  both  sides  slept ;  the 
English  scuttled  ships  which  they  could  not  man,  and 
broke  up  cannon  which  they  could  not  carry  off;  the 
drunken  soldiers  and  Crean  Brush's  filibusters  were 
kept  by  some  kind  providence  from  the  Oakbridge 
dwelling.  During  this  period  it  was  settled  that  John 
Oakbridge  and  his  wife  should  emigrate  to  Halifax. 

"  To  have  a  foot  in  each  boot,  father,"  explained 
the  son.  "  You  stay  here  and  make  it  smooth  with 
the  rebels,  while  I  keep  in  with  the  old  government. 
Ann  says  it  's  the  only  sensible  way ;  and  she  a  born 
Londoner,  you  know." 

Oakbridge  senior  assented  to  the  double-headed 
arrangement  with  a  blush  of  shame.  Such  political 
balancings  and  seesawings — tremulous"  family  devo- 


To  Halifax  or !  413 

tions  "  on  the  good-Lord-good-Devil  basis — were  as 
common  in  our  first  civil  war  as  they  were  in  our  last. 
On  the  i6th  of  March  Washington  got  out  of  patience 
anew  with  the  British  armadillo.  During  the  evening 
of  that  day  he  seized  Nook's  Hill  for  good,  in  spite  of 
Admiral  Shuldham's  broadsiding  arguments  and  remon- 
strances. Of  course  all  the  confronting  batteries  awoke 
and  thundered  around  the  city  of  desolation.  Not  a 
soul  in  Boston  slept  that  night,  except  the  stone-blind 
drunkards  who  lay  in  the  gutters,  and  the  hardened 
artillerists  who  could  snore  alongside  of  the  jumping 
guns. 

Lethargy  and  laudanum  together  could  not  tranquil- 
lize the  broken  old  man  in  the  Oakbridge  house.  He 
tossed,  he  rolled  from  side  to  side,  he  moaned  and 
babbled,  while  the  cannonade  lasted.  Mrs.  Oakbridge 
and  Doctor  Lloyd  held  him  and  soothed  him  till  they 
were  white  with  exhaustion.  Then  Jehiel  and  Sister 
Ann  took  their  places,  and  continued  the  battle  with 
death. 

"  How  terrible  he  is!  "  gasped  Mrs.  Oakbridge  the 
moment  she  had  got  out  of  the  room. 

"  He  dies  like  an  empire  in  convulsions,"  murmured 
the  doctor,  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  face  with  a  large 
red  handkerchief,  such  as  gentlemen  carried  in  that  age 
of  snuff-taking. 

Mrs.  Oakbridge  pressed  her  finger-nails  into  her 
palms,  in  terror  lest  she  should  be  glad  that  the  great 
Deliverer  was  approaching. 

The  morning  brought  quiet  to  the  sick  man  and  the 
tormented  city.  Howe  had  at  last  given  up  the  strug- 
gle to  hold  an  untenable  position  ;  and  the  preparations 
for  departure  were   openly  pushed   with   all  possible 


y 


414  A  Lover's  Revolt 

alacrity.  The  Americans,  discerning  that  an  embarka- 
tion had  commenced,  ceased  firing;  and  the  English, 
well  pleased  to  be  let  alone,  began  to  haul  off  their 
land  batteries.  The  revolutionary  cannonadings  of 
Boston  had  ended,  never  to  be  renewed. 

"  There!  "  said  Uncle  Fenn,  with  the  shuddering 
gasp  of  a  man   who   breaks   free   from   a  nightmare. 

We  have  silenced  them  again.     I  knew  we  should." 

A  smile  of  joy  played  over  his  dropsical  face,  streaked 
with  flushes  of  fever  and  quivering  in  every  fibre. 

I  knew  we  should  beat,"  he  repeated.  "It  's 
dreadful  to  bear.  But  I  suffer  all  things  gladly  for  my 
king's  sake.  Thanks  be  to  God  who  hath  given  him 
the  victory!  " 

He  felt  so  much  restored  that  he  insisted  upon  put- 
ting on  his  dressing-gown,  and  could  hardly  be  per- 
suaded out  of  a  purpose  to  get  up  and  sit  at  a  front 
window.  He  wanted,  he  said,  to  wave  his  handker- 
chief to  the  gallant  fellows  who  had  given  the  rebels 
another  good  thrashing. 

No  one  was  cruel  enough  to  contradict  these  happy 
delusions.  Doctor  Lloyd  simply  advised  a  few  more 
hours  in  bed,  with  a  continuance  of  the  camomile  tea, 
and  then  smilingly  shuffled  away. 

An  hour  later  Uncle  Fenn  was  asleep,  undisturbed 
by  the  trampling  of  troops,  the  rolling  of  gun-carriages, 
the  hurrying  and  calling  of  refugees,  the  clamor  of  a 
city  voiding  its  inhabitants.  John  Oakbridge  and 
wife  departed  without  other  farewell  than  to  look  in 
upon  the  slumbering  old  man,  his  lower  jaw  dropped, 
his  breathing  stertorous,  his  swollen  fingers  twitching 
as  if  to  clutch  at  departing  life.  Eastwold,  ghastly 
with  two  weeks  of  toil  and  broken  sleep,  merely  rode 


To  Halifax  or !  415 

up  to  the  house  on  his  foaming  horse,  shook  hands 
over  the  gate  with  Huldah's  father  and  mother,  and 
dashed  off  at  a  gallop. 

Hour  by  hour  Boston  became  less  populous  and 
more  tranquil.  By  early  afternoon  there  was  not  a 
redcoat  nor  a  bluejacket  to  be  seen  throughout  the 
whole  of  Shawmut  peninsula.  But  there  was  still  in- 
habitation ;  there  still  remained  some  four  thousand 
of  the  once  present  and  prosperous  sixteen  thousand 
citizens ;  and  although  they  were  mostly  impoverished, 
if  not  even  ragged  and  hungry,  they  wore  countenances 
of  joy.  They  did  not  hurrah;  for  the  lobsters  might 
yet  return,  and  the  tarpaulins  were  still  within  cannon- 
shot ;  but  they  shook  hands,  and  laughed,  and  some- 
times danced  at  each  other.  One  tattered  old  man 
capered  alone  past  the  Oakbridge  house  in  such  frantic 
fashion  that  even  Huldah's  mother  could  not  repress 
a  smile. 

Later  she  fell  a-doze  with  weariness  in  the  room  of 
the  slumbering  invalid.  A  noise  of  gladness  awoke 
her;  she  heard  a  far-off  thrumming  of  drums  and 
screaming  of  fifes ;  she  ran  to  a  window,  and  saw  Mrs. 
Loreleigh  in  her  carriage  waving  a  white  handkerchief 
up  the  street;  and  looking  in  that  direction,  she  dis- 
covered that  the  late  leader  of  Tory  fashion  was  wel- 
coming the  oncoming  column  of  Continentals.  Next 
the  shout  of  a  delivered  people  poured  into  the  house : 
"  Hurrah  for  Washington!  hurrah  for  liberty!  hurrah, 
hurrah,  hurrah  !  " 

The  dying  old  loyalist  awoke  and  seemed  to  compre- 
hend the  situation  at  once. 

"  The  rebels  ?  "  he  demanded  of  his  brother,  who 
had  just  entered  the  room. 


41 6  A  Lover's  Revolt 

"  Yes,  Timothy,"  answered  Oakbridge,  too  wild  with 
joy  to  be  considerate. 

"  Help  me  up!  "  shouted  the  crazed  old  man.  "  I 
will  do  battle  with  them  myself." 

He  floundered  to  his  feet,  tottered  half-way  to  the 
window,  and  fell  with  an  inarticulate  bellow.  They 
got  him  back  to  bed,  but  he  had  time  to  draw  only 
one  fierce  gasp  for  life,  and  then  his  combats  were 
over. 

The  Oakbridges  were  so  busy  with  the  poor  old  Tory 
body  of  death  that  they  missed  seeing  Major  Asahel 
Farnlee  ride  past  on  the  staff  of  His  Excellency,  his 
black  eyes  sparkling  and  his  dark  aquiline  face  flushed      I 
with  triumph,  an  incarnation  of  the  coming  republic. 


SEQUEL 

Vainly    Sir   William    was    bounced   out   of  the   harbor  of 
Boston  ; 
Vainly  Sir  John,  and  the  Earl,  and  Tarleton  blundered 
and  failed  ; 
Fruitless  the  footprints  of  blood  of  famishing,  brave  Con- 
tinentals ; 
Uselessly  Washington  planned  and  navies  of  Gallia  sailed. 

Colonists  yet  we  remain,  getting  our  raiment  from  Lunnun, 
Turning  our  trouserings  up  when  it  rains  in  the  mother- 
land ; 
And  every   millionaire   bud   grown   between  Gotham   and 
'Frisco 
Dreams  of  a  peer  of  the  realm  too  poor  to  refuse  her  his 
hand. 

Colonists    yet    we    remain,    doubting   ourselves    and    each 
other — 
Yankeedom's  artists   abide  in  shadow  till  Britons  have 
praised  ; 
Yankeedom's  authors  in  vain  aspire  to  the  title  of  genius — 
Eagle  of   freedom  !    your  bolts   fruitlessly   hurtled   and 
blazed. 

Tremulous  eagle  !  uplift  boldly  to  lion  and  unicorn 

Clamor  of  challenge,  a  yawp,  claiming  your  soul  as  your 
own  ! 

Sire  of  the  stratified  pants  and  galaxied  azure  swallow-tail, 

Rise  and  declare  what  you  like,  nor  care  if  you  like  it 

alone  ! 
27 


417 


I 


o 


^^'  14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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SENT  ON  ILL 


NOV  .  2  1993 


U.  C.  BERKELEY 


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LD  21A-60rH-4,'6-l 
(E4555sl0)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


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